


something keeps pulling me back to you

by wardeness



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 3rd Person POV - Daryl, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, This much Fluff doesn't exist in canon TWD but if it DID this is how it'd go, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardeness/pseuds/wardeness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Daryl Dixon sat on the steps of his porch, elbows resting on knees as he sharpened his knife. Katydids called around him in a chorus of chirping crickets, the sound only interrupted by the rhythmic scratch of metal on stone. The heavy air—a sure sign rain was coming, Daryl predicted—felt moist and honeyed against his bare arms. The evening was calm. Peaceful, even.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Peaceful, that was, until Jesus appeared.</i></p><p> </p><p>AU after 6x11. Slow burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story diverges from canon after 6x11 and takes place in a universe where Negan is killed and everyone gets home safely. I haven't read the comics, so all characterizations are based solely on the show thus far and my own imagination. General spoilers for Season 6.
> 
> Also, you can now listen to the companion mix for the fic on 8tracks: http://8tracks.com/desus/something-keeps-pulling-me-back-to-you

                                                                             

* * *

 

Daryl Dixon sat on the steps of his porch, elbows resting on knees as he sharpened his knife. [Katydids called around him in a chorus of chirping crickets](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVCaRuN2sfY), the sound only interrupted by the rhythmic _scratch_ of metal on stone. The heavy air—a sure sign rain was coming, Daryl predicted—felt moist and honeyed against his bare arms. The evening was calm. Peaceful, even.

Peaceful, that was, until Jesus appeared.

The younger man’s cap was plastered to his forehead and the white bandana pulled beneath his chin was drenched in sweat. Wooden steps creaked as he climbed up and slumped next to Daryl.

Daryl stilled his hands. “What’re you doin’ here,” he grumbled, shooting narrowed eyes towards the man beside him.

“It’s hot. I needed a break."

“A break on my front porch?” Daryl growled.

Jesus grinned. “Seriously, it’s hot as hell,” he breathed as he began untying the bandana from his neck. “How are you fine right now?”

“Well I ain’t wearing a stupid trench coat, for one.”

Jesus mocked a scandalized look. “How dare you accuse my trench coat of being stupid.”

Daryl grunted.

“You’re right though,” Jesus continued, “The coat was a bad choice today. Too many walkers.”

Ever since Negan’s death a few weeks back, Jesus had been spending more time in Alexandria. The Hilltop held their end of the bargain: the younger man would visit often with produce, eggs, milk, and other necessities. He started staying for hours on end, helping out the community and even going on runs with Rick and Daryl. Today was no different; Jesus arrived early on foot with a pack of medicine and offered to stay on watch for the day. Daryl and the others had broken up a small herd several days ago, but lingering groups would occasionally congregate near the far wall. Jesus was good with a gun, Daryl could admit, but the younger man preferred action hand-to-hand.

“Maybe you should just stay shootin’ the guns and stop the ninja shit,” Daryl said.

This earned a genuine laugh from Jesus, who was now shimmying out of his leather jacket. “I was a martial arts instructor. I know what I’m doing, don’t worry.”

“Ain’t worrying,” Daryl muttered.

After a moment, Daryl cleared his throat and asked, “What kind of martial arts?”

“Mostly Karate and Judo. I was learning Parkour too before everything happened.”

“Why’d you like it so much?” Daryl continued. He didn’t know why he was asking. Jesus had proven to be an asset to the community these past few weeks, but it wasn’t like they’d become best friends. Daryl was just bored, he guessed, now that his knife-sharpening time was ruined.

Jesus leaned back, his exposed elbows perched on the step above. “My dad was a big Bruce Lee fan. He took me for karate lessons when I was twelve and I just liked it from the start.”

The younger man then glanced at Daryl, eyes clear and round in the dark, before looking away. “I’ve always been on the smaller side,” he added quietly. “I got knocked around for that as a kid, among other things, so it made me feel powerful.”

Daryl suddenly felt the urge to smoke. He twitched uncomfortably, unsure where to look. He settled on his hands, which were still holding his knife and stone.

“I uh…,” Daryl began. “Well, you’re real good at it.” He no longer felt the need for a smoke, more like a need to punch himself in the face.

“Oh, I know.”

Daryl managed to glance at Jesus through his curtain of dark bangs. The younger man was wearing his signature smirk, but his eyes were different. Softer.

“Thanks, though,” Jesus murmured.

Daryl grunted in response. His cheeks felt warm.

“Anyway,” Jesus started, sitting up, “I should probably get back.”

The younger man had already spent all his daytime hours fighting off walkers. Daryl couldn’t let him spend the night watching the wall too. Not that he cared, just that…Jesus didn’t even live here, he shouldn’t have to work harder than the people that did.

“You don’t gotta do that, Rosita and Eugene are on tonight I think,” he spoke.

Jesus rose to his feet, gathering his jacket, bandana, and hat in one hand. “I know. I meant home—Hilltop.”

Daryl looked up at him, surprised. “It’s late,” he said.

Jesus quirked his brow, eyes scanning Daryl amusedly. “And?”

“Ain’t it a long trip on foot?”

“I’ve done it before.”

“What if you get, I’unno,” Daryl waved his free hand, “caught up?”

“I’m a _ninja_ , remember?” Jesus teased.

Daryl knew he was going to regret his next words before they came out of his mouth. “Or you could just stay here for the night,” he mumbled.

Jesus’ eyebrows rose. “What?”

Daryl rolled his eyes but didn’t meet Jesus’ own. “You heard me. You’re here enough anyway, m’ surprised Rick hasn’t already offered you a place.”

“He has.”

Daryl’s eyes jerked up at that.

“I uh,” Jesus started, tucking his hair behind one ear, “I’m planning on saying yes. I need to square things away back at Hilltop—I’d still be conducting trade of course, I just have to figure out who’ll be the liaison on their end.”

Daryl stared at him.

“You can ask Rick if you don’t believe me,” he added. For the first time since Daryl met Jesus, the younger man looked nervous.

Daryl stood up awkwardly, sheathing his knife and tossing the stone to the ground. He really needed that cigarette.

“So I’ll see you later, then?” Jesus asked after clearing his throat.

Daryl sighed. He was really going to regret this.

“C’mon,” he growled, cocking his head towards the door. He walked up the remainder of steps until he stood on the porch landing. He looked down at Jesus, who wore a look he couldn’t place.

“So you still need to settle shit, whatever. But you can crash here tonight,” Daryl said, shrugging with faux nonchalance.

Jesus looked up at him with round eyes. “You sure?” he asked.

“Will ya just get in the house before I change my mind?”

Jesus smiled. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

 

Thirty minutes later, Daryl slumped tiredly onto his living room couch. The lumpy, dated sofa wasn’t particularly _comfortable_ , but it comforted him nonetheless. Its ugliness didn’t make him feel so much like an outsider, unlike the clean lines and modern charm of the surrounding neighborhood.

Jesus was still in the upstairs shower. Daryl had offered him a change of clothes—some sweat pants and a t-shirt he’d found in the master bedroom bureau—after the younger man asked if he could clean up. Jesus had smiled at him before accepting the garments and entering into the bathroom.

Now that Daryl thought about it, Jesus was always smiling at him. They were always the same: either close-lipped and sly like the smaller man was hiding a secret, or wide and unsettlingly genuine. Both versions made Daryl uncomfortable. A passing thought told him it was because he liked Jesus’ smiles, but he quashed the idea as fast as it came. They were just annoying, was all.

Daryl leaned forward to the coffee table and finally picked up his pack of Marlboros. He fingered one stick out of the box and balanced it between his lips. After lighting up swiftly with the _click_ of his lighter, Daryl took a drag and dropped his head back against the pillows. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them ten minutes later, Jesus was standing next to him.

Daryl sighed before grumbling, “Shit, need to get you a bell.”

Jesus’ long hair soaked wet spots into the soft material of the t-shirt, which hung far below his waist. The man who used to lived here had obviously been on the larger side.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked before collapsing next to Daryl on the couch.

“Guess not,” Daryl mumbled, cigarette still between his lips.

“Those will kill you, you know,” Jesus teased, brows knit with feigned disapproval.

Daryl rolled his eyes.

“Can I have one?”

Daryl snorted before taking another drag. “Yea,” he said, tossing him the lighter. “Box’s on the table.”

After Jesus lit up and exhaled, he leaned back into the couch and looked at the older man. “So,” he started, “Tell me about yourself, Daryl Dixon.”

Daryl glanced at him. “Ain’t nothing to tell.”

It was Jesus’ turn to roll his eyes. “Oh come on. You’re an interesting guy.”

“Nah.”

“I’d have to disagree. I find your passion for the art of knife-sharpening quite interesting, for one.”

“Prick,” Daryl said, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

Jesus gave a breathy laugh. “Hey, I’m a pretty nice guy.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes in amusement. “Sure.”

The younger man turned towards him, eyes bright. “I’m being serious. You put up a good front, but I can tell you’re a very complex person. I find that interesting.”

Daryl gazed at him, meeting the man’s too-round eyes. Jesus’ combination of cocky swagger, puckish charm, and genuine kindness confused the hell out him. The fact that someone like him found Daryl “interesting” was even more perplexing. Daryl felt his cheeks redden and flicked his eyes away before quickly taking a drag of his cigarette.

“I’dunno what you want to know,” he shrugged as he blew out the smoke.

Jesus shifted, tucking one bent leg underneath himself. “Okay, so I was a martial arts instructor before. You?”

Daryl gnawed on his lower lip. “I was nothin.’ Unemployed. Just following around my brother Merle.” The last person he shared that with was Beth, but it had taken a great deal to finally feel comfortable admitting it. Now he was practically blurting the truth to Jesus. It made his stomach feel uneasy.

“Tell me about him, your brother. Merle,” Jesus added, his voice softer.

The older man looked down at the dwindling cigarette between his fingers. He took one last puff before depositing the butt in the ashtray on the table.

“He was an asshole. Probably would've ended up with a crew like the Saviors if he was still alive.”

“People change,” Jesus said.

Daryl snorted, “Not Merle.”

After a pause, Daryl took a breath. “He was still my brother, you know?” he asked quietly.

When he looked up at Jesus, the younger man wore a smile Daryl hadn’t seen before— it was small and kind and matched the soft look in his eyes.

“Of course,” Jesus said. “He was very lucky to have someone like you in his life. Asshole or not.”

Daryl couldn’t help the stinging feeling in his eyes as stared into Jesus’ own. He swallowed the lump in his throat and feigned a cough, looking away. Why had he finished his cigarette already?

Sensing Daryl’s discomfort, Jesus took a breath and started, “Next question. Have you always worn the vest or is that just a current thing?”

“You always worn the trench coat, or is that just a current thing?” Daryl quipped.

Jesus grinned. “Touché.”

The younger man shifted again. “Were you from around here, originally?”

“Nah. Georgia.”

“Hm. Should have guessed with the,” Jesus motioned towards Daryl, “accent and all.”

“You makin’ fun of me?”

“Me?” Jesus pointed at himself, his smirk growing. “No, no. Of course not.”

Daryl snorted.

“Did you like it? Georgia?” Jesus asked, voice genuine.

The older man gave a shrug. “Was what it was.”

Jesus nodded, eyeing him as if he understood the unsaid. He bent forward and flicked his cigarette butt into the tray. “Okay, one last question for now,” he started. “What’s your favorite kind of food?”

“That’s your question?” Daryl rasped.

“Yup.”

Daryl shrugged. “Ain’t much to eat these days.”

“I know, just—pretend you could eat anything in the world right now. What would it be?”

“I’unno,” Daryl mumbled.

“Anything. Lobster, fajitas, a spicy tuna roll,” Jesus offered.

“The fuck is a ‘spicy tuna roll’?”

“Dude. Have you never had sushi?”

“Never ate that shit,” Daryl grunted.

Jesus groaned, flopping his head back against the pillows. “Man, you missed out. I crave it every day.”

After a moment of silence the younger man continued, “Anyway, there’s got to be something you like besides roadkill and candy bars.”

Daryl breathed in, eyes darting toward the floor. He didn’t understand what Jesus was trying to achieve by asking him these random questions. Besides, Daryl wasn’t sure he ever had a favorite food. He remembers enjoying his mom’s soupy boxed mac n’ cheese when he was young, but after she died he never cared that much about food. His dad wasn’t one to cook; he just bought the typical redneck stuff or served whatever he’d hunted that day. Merle usually brought home dinner, which was always fast-food burgers or fried chicken. And beer, of course.

He then remembered the spaghetti meal at Aaron and Eric’s. He never had Italian much before the world went to shit, but every time he did he enjoyed it.

“I like pasta, I guess.” Daryl voiced.

The younger man sat up. “Oh, I can work with that.”

“What?” Daryl asked, confused.

Jesus smiled softly. “One of these days I’m making you dinner, as a thank you for letting me crash tonight. And for not leaving me the first time we met— _and_ also as an apology for me being an asshole with the truck. I just wanted to know what sort of thing you liked. Not that there’s much to work with, as you said.”

Daryl stared at Jesus. His stomach felt weirdly light. He couldn’t deny the appeal of a home-cooked meal, though.

“You don’t got—

“I know,” Jesus interrupted. “But I want to.”

Daryl shrugged. “Okay, sure.”

Jesus smiled at him gently, his eyes soft. He then stood up, tucking back his damp waves behind one ear. Daryl couldn’t tell for sure in the dim light, but his cheeks looked pinker than before.

“Well, I should sleep,” he said. “Is the room up on the right still okay?”

“Yea, s’fine.”

“Goodnight, then,” Jesus said. “Thanks again.”

“Mhm. Night,” Daryl rasped.

He watched as Jesus walked around the couch, glancing back at Daryl over his shoulder before ascending the stairs. As the younger man disappeared onto the second level, a slow blanket of raindrops began tapping against the roof.

Daryl let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding in and dropped his head into the cushion pillows. Closing his eyes, he listened to the loudening patter and low rumble of thunder before drifting off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick makes an announcement, Daryl and Jesus make tomato sauce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's commented and reached out about the first chapter. I genuinely appreciate all of your feedback!

Rick’s home always made Daryl uneasy.

The open layout and high ceilings, the clean walls and airy-light decor—all of it felt overwhelming. The house looked like it belonged in those old real-estate commercials, the ones with smiling families and golden retrievers inside. Not dirty, straggly rednecks from Georgia.

His own home in Alexandria wasn't much of an improvement. Daryl had purposefully chosen the oldest looking one on the block; he’d liked the chipping white paint on the porch and how the house had seemingly settled on a slant. To Daryl’s relief, the original owner clearly didn’t care much for interior design. The walls were painted the same light tone as Rick’s model, but the cramped furniture was worn and dated. Regardless, the house was nicer than anywhere he'd ever lived. Even though Daryl was part of a community now, Alexandria still reminded him that he was an outsider.

When Rick had called an impromptu group meeting at his place earlier that afternoon, Daryl assumed it’d be one of the quick living room chats they’d been having over the past few weeks. Nothing too serious, no reason why he’d have to be there for an extended period of time. As he walked into the large home, however, he realized “meeting” was an understatement.

The others were gathered in the kitchen, pouring wine from a bottle into mismatched mugs and glasses. Eugene was pulling some sort of food from the oven—bread, maybe?—and Michonne was placing a stack of freshly-washed plates onto the table. Daryl’s eyes darted around the room, hoping to find Rick and get an explanation for all the commotion.

Carol slinked next to him a few seconds later. “Hey there, stranger.”

“Hey,” Daryl said. “The hell is all this.”

His friend frowned. “Not sure myself, but I could use a drink,” she responded before patting his shoulder and entering the kitchen.

After a few seconds of internal debate, Daryl followed suit. He nodded curtly at the few who greeted him and moved to lean against the side wall with a vantage point of the front door. Arms crossed, he silently observed his friends in the room—Carol now chatting with Carl, Maggie telling Glenn a story while leaning on his shoulder, Eugene staring in contemplation at the cooling bread on the counter—while always keeping one eye on the front entrance.

Several minutes later, Daryl watched the door finally swing open to reveal Rick—no, it wasn’t just Rick. Jesus strode inside behind him, smile wide as he chuckled at something the other man had said.

Daryl stiffened against the wall. He straightened himself and squared his shoulders, trying to knock the racing feeling in his chest. He wasn’t nervous, just…he hadn’t seen the younger man since that night last week. It was unexpected, was all.

That following morning, Daryl had woken up to a note. He’d slept all night on the couch—much to the misfortune of his neck—so when he opened his eyes he had full view of a folded sheet of paper labeled “Daryl” propped up on the coffee table. Jesus’ neat handwriting had been inside:

 

_I wanted to let you sleep, so I didn’t wake you. I spoke with Rick and he’s letting me take the RV back today. Thanks again for last night._

_I’ll be seeing you soon,_

_Jesus :)_

 

The stupid smiley face had made Daryl snort—of course the younger man would still smile at him through written text.

Daryl broke from the memory as the others noticed the pair’s entrance. Michonne embraced Rick in a brief hug, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Rick,” Eugene cut in, clearly not paying attention to his and Michonne’s moment, “I took care of the refreshments. I located an unopened bottle of 2009 Mark West Pinot Noir in the basement of my home and also enough ingredients to produce this freshly baked bread. Although admittedly I’m not quite sure how it will taste. I was never much of a cook.”

Rick took a breath. “Well,” he said with raised brows, “Thanks Eugene.”

“No need for thanks.”

Daryl watched the exchange before moving his eyes toward the smaller man. Jesus had turned to Maggie, who was greeting him with a wide smile. He was wearing his signature trench coat and black bandana, but his hat was off his head and folded in his right hand.

“So,” Rick then announced, “Some of you are probably wondering why I asked you all here. I wanted to take the time to formally welcome our newest group member,” he motioned toward Jesus.

“As you all know, Jesus has been invaluable to us over the past few weeks. He’ll now be joining us in Alexandria full-time, while still overseeing trade with the Hilltop. We both agreed living here made more sense for him and for the community. So, please, enjoy the refreshments and welcome Jesus to the family.”

Jesus stepped forward. “Firstly, thank you Eugene for all this. I especially appreciate the alcohol,” he smirked, earning a few chuckles from the room.

“In all seriousness, I’m very grateful to be part of this community. You’re some of the fiercest, most genuine people I’ve ever met and I’m proud to be among you. If it weren’t for Rick and Daryl,” he added with a glance in Daryl’s direction, “I wouldn’t be here. So thank you both, as well.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Abe called out from the end of the table, raising his Mickey-Mouse mug filled with red wine.

Daryl watched the room bloom into clinks of ceramic and glass, everyone saying their cheers before sipping drinks and resuming the hum of their earlier conversations. The next thing he knew, Jesus was beside him with two glasses filled with the red liquid.

“You don’t have a drink,” he said, passing over one cup.

Daryl accepted it reluctantly. “Didn’t realize this would be a party.”

“Hm,” Jesus said after taking a sip, “This is very good, actually.”

Daryl sniffed the glass and frowned. “Not really a wine person.”

The younger man grinned at him. “Of course you’re not. I didn’t see any Jack Daniel’s around or I would have offered you that instead.”

“Whatever,” Daryl said before taking a gulp. It wasn’t _that_ bad.

“So,” Jesus continued, “How are you?”

“I’unno, same I guess.” He shifted before taking another drink and continuing, “You?”

“I’m good. Mostly excited to move into my new place.”

Daryl lowered the glass approaching his lips, interest piqued. After Jesus had told him he was planning on taking up Rick’s offer, he understood the younger man would eventually be moving to Alexandria. He just hadn’t thought about _where_ Jesus would live. There were many open houses he could choose from. He could pick one of the new, never-lived-in models, that empty house near Aaron and Eric’s, one of the few large homes next to Rick’s, even the house by Abraham and Sash—

“Don’t think too hard, you’ll hurt yourself,” Jesus smirked.

“Shuttup,” Daryl rasped. He hadn’t realized how long he must have drifted off.

Jesus chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m just teasing you.”

Daryl grunted. His face felt heated.

“Anyway,” Jesus started, round eyes locked on Daryl’s, “I’m going to be your new neighbor.”

Daryl almost choked on his gulp of wine. “Wha—?” he managed after wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

Jesus shrugged, a sly smirk playing on his lips. “I liked the house next door to yours, the one with the dark shutters.”

“You liked the shutters,” Daryl said, eyes narrowed.

“Mhm,” Jesus hummed while taking another sip.

Daryl fidgeted with the now-empty glass in his hands. Normal people would probably congratulate Jesus in this situation, or at least express excitement to be gaining a new neighbor. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about Jesus living next to him, though. It’s not that he didn’t like Jesus per se—sure, the younger man could be a fucking prick, but he was a good enough guy. Rick wouldn’t have accepted him into the family if he wasn’t, and Daryl’s gut agreed. He just felt awkward whenever the younger man was around, shooting him those stupid smiles, asking him random questions, trying to be his friend or whatever.

“Plus,” Jesus continued, “it’d be less of a trip when you come over for dinner.”

“Come over for what?” Daryl questioned, voice gravelly.

“Oh come on, you couldn’t have forgotten about the pasta already,” Jesus teased, although something about his voice suggested he was nervous.

Daryl stared. He hadn’t forgotten, but he’d hoped Jesus had.

“I already swiped two boxes of rigatoni, “ the smaller man added. “Just need some tomatoes and…whatever spices you put in sauce and we’ll be all set.”

“Do ya even know how to make sauce?”

Jesus pursed his lips. “Not really. You?”

“Nah, ain’t a cook.”

“Me neither,” Jesus sighed.

“You’re the one who offered.”

Jesus looked at him with big eyes and smiled softly. “We’ll just have to figure it out together, then.”

Daryl looked away. Tomato sauce should not be making him blush right now.

Shortly afterward, Maggie approached Jesus and started talking about some new trade with the Hilltop. Daryl took that as his cue to leave the impromptu party, but he didn’t miss the way Jesus’ eyes followed him as he left instead of paying attention to Maggie’s speech.

 

* * *

 

That evening, Daryl lay on his lumpy couch, long sleeved shirt switched for a sleeveless plaid button-down. The sun still hadn’t set, but windy air had died down to a dead, stagnant heat.

He was contemplating making himself cereal for dinner when he heard three quick knocks at his front door. He grumbled, forcing himself from his comfortable position.

When he swung open the door, he couldn’t say he was surprised to see Jesus Rovia. However, he was surprised to see Jesus Rovia with a bag of tomatoes and an armful of random spice containers. He raised the bag with one hand. “Think these will be enough?” he smiled, one eyebrow raised.

“How’d you get all that,” Daryl growled.

“My youthful charm, of course.”

Daryl rolled his eyes.

“Come on,” Jesus said before tossing Daryl the bag. “We’ve got work to do.”

Daryl sighed. Reluctantly, he shut his front door before following Jesus. He was going to regret ever letting the younger man stay the night.

Jesus’ house was very similar in layout to his own. A small foyer opened to the larger living room, and stairs behind that lead up to the second floor. The kitchen sprawled to the right of the living area, a table in the center cornered by two walls of countertop and cabinets. Jesus moved to the counter and dropped all the spices. “Pass me the tomatoes,” he called over his shoulder.

Daryl walked to the counter and placed the bag next to the dumped spices. “Ain’t throwin’ ‘em.”

“How chivalrous of you,” Jesus said sarcastically.

Daryl rolled his eyes again and made his way towards the living room. A leather couch sat opposite from the fireplace, two lamps on each side atop small side tables. Several pieces of art hung on the walls in gilded frames, but Daryl’s eyes were drawn to the oil painting hanging above the fireplace. Dark, violent waves thrashed in a night storm, a ship barely afloat in the center.

The sound of shuffling and banging interrupted Daryl’s view. He turned around—Jesus was standing with one foot on the countertop, half his body reaching inside the upper cabinets.

“The hell you doin?” Daryl rasped.

“I hit the jackpot,” Jesus called, voice muffled from the cabinet.

Daryl was about to question what the hell he was talking about, when Jesus pulled several large books out in both arms. The shift in balance would have made any normal person fall to the ground, but Jesus hopped gracefully to the kitchen floor, never dropping a book.

“Fuckin’ ninja,” Daryl muttered under his breath.

Jesus deposited the piles on the kitchen table and started shifting around the books. He picked out one in particular and flipped through the pages. As Daryl neared closer he realized they were cookbooks.

“Ah, here we go. _Authentic tomato marinara sauce._ Sounds about right.”

Daryl stood behind the younger man and cocked his head, looking at the text over his shoulder.

“Looks complicated,” Daryl said.

Jesus glanced back at him. “What, you afraid of tomato sauce Dixon?”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. He reached over Jesus and grabbed the book.

“Gimme that,” Daryl growled. “Ain’t afraid of nothin.”

Daryl plopped the open book next to the bag of tomatoes and spices on the counter. He braced both hands against the edge of the countertop and leaned over to read. After a minute of awkward silence, he glanced sideways through his dark bangs to see Jesus smiling at him.

“What?” Daryl rasped.

Jesus shrugged one shoulder. “Nothing.”

Daryl stared at him before flicking his eyes back to the recipe. The younger man confused the hell out him. He just needed to concentrate on the book below instead of Jesus’ piercing eyes and stupid smile.

 

* * *

 

After forty minutes of cooking, Jesus lowered the heat on the stove.

The younger man had done the majority of work—he’d insisted given that "he was the one who was supposed to be cooking.” After peeling the tomatoes and filling the pot with water, Daryl had just settled on the other side of the stove from Jesus, lower back resting against the counter.

“Okay,” Jesus read, “now it says we need to keep stirring, and then let it simmer for another hour.”

Daryl looked over at the smaller man. He’d removed his jacket and was wearing a grey henley, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His brows were knit as he leaned over the recipe.

Daryl straightened and walked next to him. “An hour? Really?”

“Yeah, fuck. How about we give it thirty minutes and see how it tastes?” the long-haired man asked.

“S’fine by me,” Daryl answered.

“Not that I’m trying to reduce the amount of time I’m spending with you, I’m just starving,” he said, eyes still on the recipe.

Something about the sentence made Daryl flush. He swallowed. He was just hungry too, that was it.

Jesus looked up at him, eyes round. “Unless you want to wait? That’s completely fine too, we could snack on something—”

“Nah, thirty minutes is good. If it’s shit then we’ll keep waiting,” Daryl shrugged.

“Alright then, it’s a plan.” Jesus stirred the sauce a few times before placing the lid on top.

After stepping away from the stove, he glanced at Daryl. “Want a drink?” 

“As long as it’s not that shit we had earlier,” Daryl said as he made his way towards the living area. He flopped onto the leather couch. 

“You secretly liked it,” Jesus called from the kitchen.

“Prick,” Daryl grumbled.

A few minutes of shuffling and clanking later, Jesus sat next to him on the couch, glasses of brown liquid in both hands.

“Bourbon work for you? This is all I could find,” the younger man said before passing Daryl the cup.

Daryl accepted it silently and took a healthy gulp.

Jesus raised his brows. “Thirsty much?”

Daryl shot narrowed eyes at the man beside him. Jesus just grinned. Daryl couldn’t help but smirk himself.

The older man took another (albeit smaller) sip and looked ahead, eyes meeting the painting of the ship again. Daryl liked it, somehow.

Jesus sighed and leaned back into the couch. “I love that painting.”

Daryl turned his head. “Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It makes me happy, I guess,” Jesus said, voice soft.

“Happy? Seems like the damn boat’s gonna sink.”

“Yeah, but look,” the younger man shifted closer to Daryl, shoulder almost touching his own, “top right corner. See how the sky gets lighter there? At first I thought it was a night scene, but I think it’s just all the clouds blocking the sun. If you look even closer, I think there’s birds.”

Daryl had never been this close to Jesus, save for briefly when the younger man kept falling on him in the car. He knew logically Jesus was smaller than him—mostly just his frame, but he was a few inches shorter too—but seeing his arm next to his own made him very aware of the difference. Even though they weren’t touching, he could feel his small warmth radiating onto his bare arm. “You like birds a lot or somethin?” he managed, trying to sound nonchalant even though he was pretty sure his face was flushed again.

Jesus gave him a look before continuing. “I just mean that even though the clouds are dark and thick—and yes, it seems like the ship may sink in the middle of the storm—there’s still that sliver of light. If the ship gets over that last wave, they could make it. There’s hope that things can be okay. That’s why it makes me happy.”

Daryl couldn’t help but stare at Jesus’ profile. His chest felt tight.

Jesus then gave a self-deprecating smirk. “Sorry, that sounded less stupid in my head.”

“Ain’t stupid,” Daryl quickly responded.

Jesus looked back at him, eyes searching. They were almost green. Daryl hadn't noticed before. 

After a few seconds, Daryl dropped his eyes. He should change the subject. Anything to get rid of the hammering in his chest.

“You, like, one of those art people?” Daryl mumbled. He immediately felt like facepalming. That was neither a real change of subject nor a particularly eloquent question.

The younger man chucked. “Art people?”

“Shit, I’unno. Art history or whatever.” Daryl knew his face must be deep red.

“I’m flattered, but no. I had to take an Art History course once to satisfy my major requirements, but I’m pretty sure I was too hungover on Friday mornings to really grasp anything meaningful.”

“You went to college?” Daryl asked, interested.

“Yeah. Studied International Relations and Philosophy. Art, not so much.”

“How’d you end up a Martial Arts instructor then?”

The younger man took a breath and leaned back. “Well,” he started, raising his brows, “After I graduated, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life. I also had a shit-ton of student debt, so I ended up joining the Peace Corps and teaching English abroad for two years. They helped with my debt, but when I returned home I still had no idea what I wanted."

“Given that I had both Karate and teaching experience,” Jesus continued, “a friend of mine recommended I help teach kids Karate at his studio. At first it was just a part-time gig, a way to make extra cash. I also worked a desk job at a real-estate company—I hated that. Anyway, finally a few years later I began pursuing a career in IR, moved to D.C. Nothing really panned out, so I took a job as a Judo instructor so I could pay rent. I absolutely loved it, though. I was going to open my own place before everything happened.”

Daryl nodded, looking down into his nearly-finished glass of bourbon.

“Did you go to college?” Jesus asked.

The older man suddenly felt self-conscious. “Nah,” he rasped before finishing his drink.

“It doesn't matter. Especially not now," Jesus responded.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip, too awkward to meet Jesus' gaze. "Maybe, but I ain't smart or anything." 

“Yes you are,” Jesus murmured.

Daryl snorted. "Yeah right. Couldn’t even finish high school. I was a fuck-up.”

“Intelligence isn’t just measured by how many books you’ve read or how well you can divide fractions, Daryl. It’s so much broader than that. Maybe you didn’t like school, but that doesn’t mean you’re not smart. I’ve watched how you are out there—your mind’s very strategic. You're observant, you're resourceful, you can see and do things no one else can, and that's impressive.”

For what felt like the thousandth time since he’d met Jesus, Daryl’s face was a dark shade of red. He didn’t know how to respond to something like that, so he just cleared his throat and managed, "Thanks."

Jesus smiled at him, close-lipped and small, and appraised him with those sea-green eyes. "You're very welcome."

Suddenly, Daryl’s stomach started growling. As if he couldn't embarrass himself more.

Jesus laughed. “Sounds like it’s time to check the sauce.”

The younger man stood up and made his way to the stove. Daryl could smell the basil and spices when Jesus opened the lid to stir the pot. He turned his head to watch the man dip the wooden spoon before giving it a quick taste.

"A bit watery, but not bad. How 'bout it—you ready to eat?" 

"Yea, I'm damn starving."

Jesus laughed softly again. Daryl liked the way it sounded, all breathy and light. "Okay, stay there. I'll boil the pasta quickly and then bring everything over," Jesus called.

Ten minutes later, Jesus placed a fork and bowl of pasta in Daryl's hands before settling next to him with his own. The younger man sat cross-legged, facing Daryl. The two ate in silence for a few minutes before Daryl swallowed and said, "It's real good."

Jesus smiled, cheeks puffy as he chewed. Once he swallowed, Jesus leaned forward with his fork and stole a rigatoni from Daryl's bowl. 

Daryl knit his brows and turned towards Jesus. "You ain't even finished yours yet, prick," he said, trying his best to hide the smile forming on his lips.

The younger man chuckled and raised his brows. "Yeah, but _technically_ I made it so I'm entitled to more," he said in between chews. 

Daryl just shook his head before reaching out and claiming several of Jesus' rigatoni's for his own and eating them in one bite.

Jesus laughed, shoulders shaking slightly. "Savage." 

As they sat chatting and finishing their dinner, Daryl couldn't help but feel a little bit less uneasy. Maybe having a new neighbor wouldn't be that bad after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you enjoyed Chapter 2 by commenting below! :)
> 
> Come talk Darus with me on tumblr: darylxjesus.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Jesus go hunting. Awkwardness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friends, I hope you all survived the finale. Isn't it great that Negan's already dead in this fic? Yay!! Haha!! *sobs*
> 
>  
> 
> Mild warning for references to homophobia.

“Hey Daryl, you comin’ with us?”

Daryl raised his hand over squinted eyes, trying his best to block the blinding sun. The mid-summer heat was stifling as always, and his clothing clung to his body in sweat even though it was barely past ten o’clock. Rick stood a few feet in front of him holding the keys to the RV.

The archer walked towards his friend, the glare lessening as he closed the gap. Rick was making a quick supply run with Glenn and Michonne—the food shipment from Hilltop wasn’t expected until next week—and had asked Daryl if he wanted to join last night. Daryl had just shrugged noncommittally; he’d been thinking about hunting the next day. It’d been a while since he’d tried. He needed the alone time.

“Nah, man. Goin’ on a hunt,” Daryl said when he was close enough.

Rick nodded. “Alright, be careful out there,” he responded.

Daryl grunted. “Yea. You too.”

Rick walked towards the RV where Michonne was leaning against the door. Michonne straightened when he neared and pulled him into a hug. The swords-woman gave a quick nod in Daryl’s direction before parting with Rick and hopping into the van.

After they drove off, Daryl turned and made his way back home. He needed to pick up some rope and the slingshot he’d been assembling now that his crossbow was gone. The makeshift device probably could kill a squirrel or rabbit, but that was about it. It was better than nothing though, or using his gun and attracting walkers.

As Daryl approached his block, he spotted Jesus sitting atop the railing of his own porch. The smaller man was eating a bowl of food—cereal, Daryl presumed—while his legs dangled over the edge. It took only a few more steps for Jesus to notice Daryl back: the man smiled at him, mouth full, and shook the hand holding his spoon in an awkward wave.

It’d been several weeks since Jesus moved next door. The man had transitioned quickly into the community, mostly due to the amount of time he’d spent in Alexandria before his official move. He and Maggie worked well together in making continued deals with Hilltop, and the younger man had naturally settled into a leadership role alongside him and Rick. People respected him, people liked him.

He and Daryl had been spending more time together, too. Over the weeks they’d gone on several transports, runs with Rick, and recruiting missions with Aaron. Plus, it was hard not to see someone all the time when they lived right next to you. It just made sense to do things together a lot. They’d meet early in the morning, go off, and then travel home together. It was easy, was all.

Not that—not that Daryl minded being with Jesus all the time. He was a skilled fighter and genuinely earnest about protecting the community. Daryl trusted him. It was good having a routine with someone he trusted. And it wasn’t like the younger man was bad to be around or anything. Yeah, Jesus still confused the hell out of him half the time, but they got along well enough, he guessed. He was nice. Daryl wasn’t sure if that meant they were friends, but he wouldn’t mind if the others thought that.

As Daryl approached his own porch, Jesus hopped off the railing onto his feet, bowl and spoon still in hand. “Hey,” he greeted Daryl.

“Hey,” Daryl rasped in response.

The smaller man walked over next to Daryl and leaned against the bannister of the stair’s railings. “How was watch this morning?”

“Hot,” Daryl grunted.

Jesus hummed knowingly. He then knit his brows as if he remembered something. “Thought you were going on a run with Rick and Michonne? And Glenn, I think?”

The archer shook his head. “Nah, goin’ hunting.”

The smaller man stood up from his leaning position. “Oh, really?”

Daryl shot him a look. “Nah, not really. M’goin to pick dandelions and chase butterflies.”

“Ha, ha,” Jesus intoned with a smile. Daryl returned the smirk.

“Seriously though, I’ve never seen you go out on a hunt. Why now?” Jesus asked sincerely.

“Used to go all the time when I had my bow. Just felt like goin again, I’dunno,” Daryl shrugged.

Jesus raised his brows and cocked his head in consideration. “I guess I wouldn’t mind having some meat for dinner. Even if it’s squirrel.”

“Maybe rabbit too, if I’m lucky,” Daryl added as he began climbing the stairs.

The younger man looked up at him. He slid the spoon inside the bowl with a _clank_. “I’ll come with you,” he said.

Daryl just stared at Jesus. He’d wanted to be alone, to have some quiet time to himself to think. Then again, Jesus could be an asset to have on guard, just in case. Plus, it would be good for the smaller man to learn some survival skills. He was good with his body—fighting wise—and he was clever. But Daryl didn’t think the younger man would be able to capture an animal and know how to cook it right if he was ever out there alone. It made sense to bring him along. For learning purposes, of course.

Daryl shrugged, trying to come off nonchalant. “Fine. But don’t wear the damn trench coat and slow me down when you’re sweatin’ to death.”

Jesus smiled. “Of course not, I’ll keep it light.”

Daryl grunted. He walked up to his door. “Meet you back here in five,” he rasped before entering into his home.

Daryl tread into the living room where he kept all his supplies. He gathered about three feet of thin rope and cut it with his knife, then wrapped it up several times and threw it into his bag. He grabbed the slingshot and rocks he’d gathered and tossed them inside as well. Slinging the bag over one shoulder, he walked into the kitchen and turned on the sink faucet. Daryl leaned down and took several large gulps of water before turning off the knobs and walking back towards the door. He couldn't help but look at himself as he passed the mirror in the foyer. His face was slick with sweat and water and his dark hair was matted to his forehead. He looked exhausted. Daryl tried to blot the shine on his face and comb through his locks with his free hand, but it didn’t help much.

Daryl looked away from himself in the mirror and stepped towards the front door. He opened it quickly, ready to face the glaring sun and heat again and—

Daryl’s thought process came to a halt. Jesus was in front of him, back facing Daryl as he leaned forward with his elbows on the porch railing. The smaller man wore a sleeveless, light tee-shirt and his usual slacks and boots. His hair, however, was tied up in a knot on his head. Daryl stared at the little brown wisps that stuck to the back of his neck in sweat.

The older man had that tight, racing feeling in chest that happened every so often when Jesus was around. He’d learned to ignore it, but he couldn’t right now. Maybe he had heat stroke.

The younger man then turned around, blue-green eyes round and a soft smile on his lips. “You ready?”

Daryl tried to respond, but nothing was coming out. He knew his face was red again.

If Jesus suspected anything was off, he didn’t mention it. “Need help with that?” he said, motioning towards the bag on Daryl’s shoulder.

Daryl then cleared his throat. “Nah, m’fine. Let’s go,” he growled quickly before pushing past Jesus and marching down the front steps.

“Okay, grumpy-pants,” Jesus teased as he followed behind him.

Daryl tried to calm down as they approached the front gate. This heat was going to be the death of him.

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, the two were well into the woods surrounding Alexandria. Daryl hadn’t said anything the entire time, and to his surprise Jesus hadn’t either. The younger man had just walked silently beside him, occasionally glancing at the older man. Daryl had pretended not to notice.

Finally, Jesus took a breath and said, “Hey, you okay?”

“M’fine,” Daryl grunted in affirmation and tightened his grip of the bag slung on his shoulder.

Jesus gave a skeptical look. “Okay,” he said.

After a few more steps, the younger man added softly, “You know you can talk to me.”

That made Daryl look over at the shorter man. He met his eyes. They seemed greener in the light of the forest trees. Daryl swallowed, trying to stop that damn racing feeling that hadn’t gone away since he’d opened his front door.

“Just tired, is all,” Daryl mumbled, voice gravelly-er than usual.

Jesus nodded. “We can head back, go hunting tomorrow?” he offered.

Daryl almost considered it. He could go home, take a shower. Get all this damn grime off himself and maybe in consequence stop feeling so weird.

Suddenly, Daryl heard a branch snap. He stiffened and instinctively reached his arm out in front of Jesus to halt his movement. He took the hand holding his bag and brought his index finger to his lips, signaling to Jesus to keep silent.

Daryl quietly unzipped the bag and took out the slingshot and one stone. He traced the movement of the animal, scanning the forest floor below him and following the direction of the noise. Slowly, Daryl pulled back the elastic with the stone and closed one eye, aiming at his prey. He let go and the stone flew through the air and hit something with a resounding thump.

Daryl breathed out and dropped his tensed arms. He walked a few feet forward and saw what he had hit: a small rabbit. Looks like he was lucky, after all.

Jesus appeared behind him. “Well shit,” he breathed. “Nice shot.”

Daryl shrugged off the compliment. He crouched down to collect the rabbit, which Daryl had hit straight in between the eyes. The impact must have killed the animal immediately. It had been a pretty good shot.

“You know,” Jesus continued, “I was a bit skeptical when you pulled out a _slingshot_ , but damn. You’re good at this.”

Daryl looked up at the man from his spot on the ground. “Thanks,” he mumbled, cheeks feeling warm.

He placed the rabbit inside the bag and stood back up. “Let’s keep goin,” Daryl growled before marching ahead.

About ten minutes later, Daryl spotted a squirrel on one of the lower branches of a tree. It was distracted, nibbling on some acorn or nut. Daryl motioned to Jesus with his free hand. “C’mere,” he whispered.

Jesus came closer. “What’s up,” he murmured in response.

Daryl jerked his head softly towards the rodent. “See that squirrel, up in them branches?”

Jesus nodded.

The archer passed the younger man the slingshot and a stone. “Your turn.”

“Wait, really?” Jesus replied softly as he accepted the items, brows raised.

“Mhm. I’ll show you,” Daryl said. He was feeling less weird now, and he had to remember why he let Jesus come in the first place. Learning purposes.

“Alright,” Jesus said, pulling back the elastic and stone, angling it upwards towards the branches. “Like this?”

Daryl cocked his head, assessing the smaller man’s position. “Uh…move your left elbow down a bit—yeah, like that—and raise the slingshot maybe two, three inches up,” Daryl instructed.

Jesus shifted, but Daryl could tell he still wouldn’t hit the small animal. He neared closer to the younger man. It would just be easier to reach out and move his arms himself, so he gently placed his fingertips underneath Jesus’ right elbow and pushed up slightly. The skin there was a bit rough, but warm.

“There,” Daryl rasped, feeling the tightness in his chest again. Okay, so maybe touching Jesus was a bad idea.

Jesus held his new position and bit his bottom lip before releasing the elastic. The stone flung through the air at a perfect angle, hitting the squirrel. The animal dropped to the forest floor, dead.

The younger man smiled at Daryl. “That was funner than I expected it to be.”

Daryl snorted. “Yeah.”

“Go get it,” Daryl added after clearing his throat. “It’s yours.”

The younger man stepped towards his prey. “Mmm, fresh squirrel. Delicious,” he teased as he reluctantly picked up the dead animal with the his forefinger and thumb. He made a playful face of disgust and motioned with the outstretched arm holding it for Daryl to open his bag.

Daryl couldn’t help but smirk. “What, you afraid of a little dead squirrel, Rovia?”

“Not as bad as being afraid of pasta sauce,” he retorted with a smile.

“Hey,” Daryl said, grabbing the dead animal and placing it into the bag with the rabbit, “wasn’t afraid of no tomato sauce.”

Jesus was laughing now. “Whatever you say.”

 

* * *

 

Over the next hour or so, Daryl and Jesus killed seven more squirrels and another rabbit. Jesus had let Daryl do most of the hunting, but obliged when Daryl insisted it was “his turn.”

They’d been walking in silence for fifteen minutes, keeping their eyes and ears out for any other animals, when Jesus took a breath in then and started, “You know, I used to be a vegetarian at one point.”

Daryl turned his head to the shorter man. “Really? Why?”

Jesus shrugged his shoulder. “It was in college. I belonged to an animal rights club and was protesting unfair treatment of farm animals. It lasted about six months before I caved and ate a pho noodle bowl with beef.”

Daryl smirked. “So what, you were one of those hippy-sters or whatever.”

Jesus snorted with laughter. “Are you trying to say _hipster_?”

Daryl’s face turned red. “Shuttup, you know what I mean,” he grumbled.

The shorter man gave a breathy laugh. “I’m not _that_ young. I don’t think the term was really a thing yet back then. I was probably closer to an actual hippy than anything.”

“S’that why you have the,” Daryl motioned towards Jesus face, “Hair and everything?”

Jesus smiled. “Maybe, I did start growing out my hair then. Didn’t do the beard until after I graduated when I was abroad, though. That’s when my friends started calling me Jesus, and it just stuck. Never went back.”

The archer hummed in response. “Do you like bein’ called Jesus or Paul better?” he asked suddenly.

Daryl felt heat rise up his neck again. He needed to stop asking stupid questions without thinking all the time. But that _was_ something he’d been thinking about lately. Daryl had been avoiding calling the younger man anything other than Rovia to his face. He hadn't gotten used to saying Jesus out loud, and Paul felt too personal, somehow.

The younger man smirked playfully at Daryl, eyebrows cocked. “Depends on the occasion.”

Daryl just looked at him. “Okay,” he said. He wasn’t really sure what the younger man meant, but Daryl needed to end the topic before he embarrassed himself further.

That didn’t help, apparently, because Jesus neared closer to Daryl and said, “For example, as much as I’d like to be compared to a divinity in bed, I’d rather have a guy calling my own name, you know?”

If Daryl ever had any hope the tightness in his chest would die down, it was completely lost now. His entire body felt like it was on fire, and it wasn’t just because of the sun. Daryl blinked before registering exactly what the younger man had just said.

“But really, you can call me whichever,” the younger man continued, smirk less prominent now, “if you feel weird calling me Jesus you can use Paul. I’d like it either way.”

“‘Kay,” Daryl managed with a half-hearted shrug, voice choppy. He wanted to bury his face in his hands. Maybe disappear forever. So much for not humiliating himself.

Jesus looked at him, his blue-green eyes searching Daryl’s own. The younger man almost seemed a bit nervous, even though that made no sense. Daryl was the one who had just turned as red as the tomatoes they’d eaten a few weeks back.

As if on cue, the familiar groan of walkers filled the air. Daryl had never been so thankful to see a group nearing him. They’d easily be able to avoid the few stragglers, but the archer needed to escape his own awkwardness. He strode towards them and pulled out his knife.

He stabbed the first two easily in the head. It took a bit of a struggle to get the third down. Jesus had caught up with him and struck the fourth with a kick, which in consequence caused the walker to fall into the last two and knock all three to the ground. Daryl watched the younger man bend down and stab all three in the head with his knife in a matter of seconds.

Jesus straightened up, taking in a few heavy breaths. His hair was falling out of the bun, more wisps framing his small face. He cocked his head. “Could have avoided those,” he exhaled.

Daryl grunted. “The more we kill the less are out there,” he growled before walking away.

He sensed the younger man wasn’t following so he turned around. Jesus still stood over the walkers, giving Daryl a look. The older man shrugged. “C’mon, we should get back,” he rasped.

 

* * *

 

Daryl and Jesus spent the walk back to Alexandria in an awkward silence. Daryl kept to himself, ignoring the glances the younger man sent his way.

He couldn’t shake their earlier moment. Sure, Jesus always liked to tease him. Daryl had gotten used to that. But this was different and he didn’t know why.

Of course he knew why, Daryl finally admitted to himself. Jesus said _guy_.

Not that he had a problem with it. It didn’t change anything.

No one really talked about gay people when he was growing up, unless it was one of Merle’s crude jokes or an insult from his father in the form of a slur. He’s sure he must have met people who were back then, but it was Georgia. If you weren’t straight, fine, but you didn’t bring that shit up at parties.

He hadn’t known anyone personally that was gay until Tara, and then Aaron and Eric, and then Denise. He liked all of them. More than most of the others, he’d admit. He identified with them in some way. They understood him, didn’t question what other people had ridiculed him for throughout his life. Maybe because they always felt like outsiders, too.

So Jesus was gay. It wasn’t a big deal. It hadn’t been a big deal with Aaron or Eric. So why did he feel like something was different?

As they entered back into Alexandria and neared their block, Daryl realized he must be coming off like a complete asshole. He didn’t want Jesus to think he was avoiding him because of that, because he was gay. He wouldn’t be like Merle, who’d probably stop hanging out with a dude if he admitted he enjoyed anything other than pussy. He liked Jesus. It didn’t change anything.

The two neared Daryl’s porch and awkwardly came to a stop. Daryl needed to say something now, something so that Jesus didn’t feel bad.

“I’m sorry about earlier, if I made you uncomfort—” the younger man started as Daryl blurted, “You hungry?”

Jesus paused, surprised. His cheeks were pink. “What?”

Daryl flushed. He rubbed the back of his neck with the arm that wasn’t carrying their bag full of dead animals. “I uh, well I could show you how to skin a rabbit. And cook it. We could uh, have it for dinner.”

Jesus looked at Daryl, a soft smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”

“Okay,” Daryl said, taking a deep breath. “You wanna come now?”

“As much as I’d like to, I think we could both use a shower,” Jesus replied with a smirk.

Daryl had forgotten how soaked he was. He must smell horrible. He suddenly felt very self-conscious.

“How about I come over in thirty minutes?” Jesus offered.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Daryl shrugged, trying to be casual even though his chest was racing again.

“Cool, see you then,” Jesus said before walking next door and entering his house.

 

* * *

 

Once Daryl was inside his own home, he piled the animals they caught on a cutting board on the kitchen counter. He’d start cleaning them later. He tossed the bag with the rope he hadn’t used and the slingshot to the corner. He needed to shower first.

He walked upstairs to the master bathroom and shed his sticky clothing. Underneath the warm spray, he calmed down from the events of the day. He washed his hair with some of that strawberry shampoo Carol had given him last week, sudsing the locks until they were filled with foam. His friend had insisted he wash it more often and handed him what she’d found on her latest run. He’d just rolled his eyes and accepted the stupid bottle, but hadn't used it once. He guessed now was a good time as any to use it.

He usually just rinsed off, but he made sure to actually wash with soap this time. He didn’t want to be too gross, even if he’ d probably just get dirtier after skinning the food. After he finished and washed out the shampoo, Daryl turned off the shower and toweled off.

He padded into his bedroom and threw on a clean sleeveless button down, pants, and socks. He looked into the mirror on his dresser: he looked much less tired than this morning. Daryl never had liked showering, but he could admit it felt nice after a day like today. He toed his boots back on and made his way downstairs.

Daryl was almost done skinning all the squirrels when Jesus knocked on the door. Daryl wiped his hands on the nearest towel and let him inside. The younger man’s wet hair hung long against the exposed collarbone beneath his dark elbow-lengthed shirt. Jesus looked Daryl up and down before saying, “Wow.”

Daryl closed the door. “What,” he grunted, cheeks hot.

“You look very clean. Did you wash your hair with shampoo?” the younger man asked incredulously as he neared closer, reaching his head up in inspection.

“Maybe,” he mumbled before turning away and resuming his skinning activities.

Jesus slipped onto one of the high chairs opposite where Daryl worked on the kitchen island.

“How’s it going,” Jesus asked, raising an eyebrow at the mess before him.

“Fine. Squirrels are almost done. I’ll show you how to do the rabbits next.”

“Are squirrels and rabbits much different?”

“Nah, not really,” Daryl shrugged as he pulled the skin off the last squirrel. “These are just smaller.”

Jesus nodded. “What do you do with all the uh, other stuff?”

“Just toss ‘em. Unless you need the fur for whatever.”

Daryl cleaned off the cutting board and deposited all the skins in the trash. He opened his freezer and placed the squirrels inside. He’d save them for the rest of the week.

“Rabbit time?” Jesus asked as he hopped off the tall chair.

Daryl grunted in affirmation. He returned to his skinning station and grabbed one of the rabbits. Jesus walked over and settled next to him, shoulder barely an inch away from his own.

“First,” Daryl started, picking up his knife. “You gotta nick here, between the legs.”

Daryl showed him how to make the incision, pull back the the fur, cut the skin, and remove the innards. After a few minutes the archer had a cleaned, exposed rabbit.

“Okay,” Daryl said, pushing the finished rabbit to the side and grabbing the other one. “You’re up.”

Shortly afterwards, Jesus had a cleaned rabbit of his own. “Not bad,” Daryl said, assessing the younger man’s work. Jesus had done well earlier too, hunting. He was a quick learner.

The younger man chuckled. “I’ll add it to my resume.”

The two spent the next hour cooking the rabbits, along with two canned jars of corn. They ate the meal on the bar stools of the kitchen island, making small talk in between.

“I’d never eaten rabbit before this,” Jesus said after they ended their conversation about motorcycles.

Daryl swallowed his corn before responding, “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” the younger man said. "More than I expected to.”

Something about Jesus’ tone and the look in his eyes made Daryl feel like they weren’t just talking about rabbits.

Daryl’s chest tightened again. “‘Bout earlier—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jesus interrupted. “I know I can go a bit far with the teasing, bad habit.”

Daryl looked at the younger man. He wore his usual look of confidence, but the leg bouncing nervously under the countertop said otherwise.

“But I’m not going to try and hide who I am," Jesus continued. "So if you have a problem with that—”

“Ain’t got a problem,” Daryl added quickly, eyes meeting Jesus' own. 

"Okay," the younger man responded softly. 

Daryl swallowed and looked down at his plate. “Didn’t want you to think that. M’just,” he paused, at a loss for the right phrase, “not always good with words?" He couldn't believe this conversation was happening right now. He needed a cigarette. Or a drink. Or both. 

Jesus smiled softly. “I noticed.”

Daryl looked back up at him, face heated.

"Don't worry, it's a good thing," Jesus added. "I like it. It's who you are. " 

The older man held the younger one's gaze for a few more seconds before flicking his eyes down at his plate. Daryl was surprised his skin wasn't a permanent shade of red at this point. 

"Me too," Daryl said, voice gravelly. "I mean—not me, but you. I like who you are."

When Daryl had the courage to look up again, Jesus was gazing at him, sea green eyes searching is own. 

After a moment, Jesus reached out his hand and placed it softly on Daryl's forearm. "Thanks," he murmured, smile soft. 

Daryl swallowed, blinking at the man in front of him. 

He had a feeling the racing feeling wasn't going away any time soon. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment below if you enjoyed Ch 3! 
> 
> As usual, come talk to me on tumblr at darylxjesus.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl, Jesus, and Rick go on a run. Daryl can't figure out his feelings.

When Daryl had gone to bed after his shift on watch last night, he hadn’t been expecting to wake up a few hours later to a face full of clothing. But alas, here he was, lying in bed at six o’clock in the morning with a pair of jeans draped over his head.

“Wake up, sunshine,” came a voice to his left. Daryl heard the rustling of fabric and then felt a soft item land atop the comforter covering his legs.

Daryl groaned as his mind caught up with his waking body. He swatted the scratchy jeans away from his face and rubbed the crust from his eyes. Blinking, he turned his head to the left: Jesus was bent over a pile of clothes in the corner, back facing him.

The archer felt his whole body tense up with heat. What was Jesus doing in his bedroom? How did he even get inside the house?

Daryl raised himself up on one elbow. “What the hell are you doin',” he managed, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Rick wants us on a run with him ASAP,” Jesus responded, still rummaging through the pile. “I knocked on the door for a while but no one answered.”

“So ya just thought you’d break in?”

Jesus turned around then, bright eyes staring straight at him. Daryl’s chest felt like it was going to explode. He glanced down briefly at his own body—good thing he fell asleep in his clothes last night or he’d be even more embarrassed.

“You usually always answer. I was worried,” Jesus said softly.

Daryl looked away again, his face beat red. “Must’ve been out. Only went to bed maybe two hours ago.”

Jesus raised his brows. “Oh I’m…I didn’t realize your shift ran that late. I can tell Rick you’re not—”

“Nah, s’fine,” Daryl interrupted. He sat up further, scooting his back towards the headboard. He gathered the jeans on his torso and awkwardly looked at the smaller man a foot away from him.

“Did I hit you with those? I was trying to get your legs, but uh, looks like my backwards aim isn’t so great,” Jesus said with a self-deprecating smile.

“S’fine,” Daryl growled as he pushed the covers off himself and swung his legs around off the bed. “Any reason why ya want me to wear these?” he added, raising the jeans.

“Honestly, they looked the cleanest. And that shirt too,” Jesus replied, motioning towards the piece of clothing near the edge of the bed.

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “You callin’ my clothes dirty?”

Jesus smirked. “Hmm…they could use a wash, yes.”

“Ass,” Daryl muttered with a smirk of his own.

The younger man was fully smiling now, looking down at his feet.

“How’d ya even get in here anyway?” Daryl asked after a moment.

“Ninjas don’t reveal their secrets, Daryl,” Jesus quipped, eyebrows quirked.

Daryl snorted. “‘Kay, Jesus.”

The smaller man’s smile widened. He walked over to the shirt cast on the comforter, picked it up, and deposited it on Daryl’s lap. “Get changed, I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”

Jesus gave another soft smile before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him. Daryl released a deep breath and flopped onto his back on the bed, itching for a cigarette.

Since their hunting trip last month, things had been going well between them. Daryl genuinely looked forward to their daily routines, and for some reason he felt better—safer, even—having him as a partner. They got along easily. Things were good.

Despite all of this, Daryl still couldn’t figure out the racing in his chest or fluttering in his stomach whenever the younger man was near him. He liked having Jesus around, and not just because he trusted him as a partner. Daryl felt comfortable with him in a way he couldn’t around the others. Something about the smaller man’s kindness and honesty made him feel open, like he could be himself without feeling paranoid or judged. Jesus was also persistent and headstrong, which would piss Daryl off coming from anyone else. But the smaller man knew how to push Daryl out of his comfort zone when needed and understood how to reign him in when he being too stubborn or rash. Daryl…liked that. And although he’d never admit it it out loud, he’d become fond of the younger man’s stupid humor and mischievous confidence.

They were friends, Daryl knew that, but none of his other friends made him feel this way. No matter what he did or what he told himself, he couldn’t shake the nervousness. Maybe it was because he liked the way Jesus made him feel. But he couldn’t think about that right now. Or ever, probably.

Sitting back up, Daryl took the shirt and jeans in hand and walked into the master bathroom. If Jesus thought his clothes were dirty, then that was nothing compared to his actual body. He should shower.

 

* * *

 

When Daryl came downstairs fifteen minutes later, wet hair against his forehead and dressed in the clean clothes his friend had picked out, Jesus was waiting for him on the couch. The younger man stood up when Daryl entered and looked him up and down.

“Nice outfit,” Jesus smirked.

“Shuttup,” Daryl mumbled, not being able to control the pinkness in his cheeks or the smirk forming on his own lips.

The younger man gave a small breathy laugh, the one that always made Daryl feel warm. Jesus then bent over and grabbed a bowl from the coffee table. “Here,” he started, “Made you breakfast.”

Daryl walked over and accepted the small bowl of cereal. He sat on the couch and scooped a few flakes and milk with the spoon. “Thanks,” he mumbled as he chewed.

“No problem,” Jesus answered, sitting himself down next to the older man.

After a moment, Daryl looked over at Jesus. “So where does Rick wanna go?”

“Some electronics store a few hours up the highway. He said he saw it on his last run.”

“Prob’ly already looted,” Daryl said in between chews.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Apparently it’s small though, he thinks it might have gone under the radar. More batteries, walkie-talkies, that sort of thing.”

Daryl nodded. He finished his cereal and leaned forward to place the empty bowl on the coffee table. “Guess we should get goin’,” he rasped.

Daryl stood up and walked over to the kitchen table where he’d left his leather vest draped over the back of a chair. He grabbed it and pulled it around his shoulders, fitting it snugly over the maroon button up Jesus had chosen.

“Looks good on you,” came Jesus’ voice behind him.

Daryl turned around, cheeks warm again. “What?”

The younger man stood up and walked around the couch, nearing closer to Daryl. “Your vest. It looks nice on you.”

The archer swallowed. He shrugged awkwardly, looking down to his feet.

After a few steps, Jesus settled in front of Daryl. He glanced at the archer’s torso with knit brows. “It’s a little crooked—here,” he said before reaching out and placing both hands on either side of the vest.

Daryl’s eyes jumped back to the younger man as his heart thumped wildly in his chest. Jesus ran his fingers up the edges of the leather. When they reached Daryl’s collar bone, he pulled gently, straightening the garment. “There, that’s better,” he said, voice softer than before.

 Jesus’ eyes searched his own gently. Daryl felt his stomach flutter. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how bright they were, that color somewhere between blue and green.

“Let’s head out,” Jesus said with a small smile after dropping his hands.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Daryl stammered after clearing his throat.

The younger man eyed him before turning around and walking towards the front door. Daryl followed him, that same strange feeling stuck in his stomach and chest.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Daryl was resting in the passenger seat of the sedan, elbow perched on the armrest as warm air gusted from the open window. Rick sat opposite him in the driver’s seat with one hand draped on the wheel. He was telling some story about an arrest he’d made as a cop—something about an old guy and a deer. Or was it a moose? Daryl hadn’t really been paying attention.

The archer had realized that he could see Jesus sitting in the back seat from the rear view mirror an hour ago. Since then, he hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything else. Daryl watched the younger man listen to Rick’s ridiculous anecdote, brows cocked and lips smirking in amusement at the tale. He tried to distract himself from Jesus’ reflection by focusing on the road ahead, but it was pointless. He just kept peeking at the mirror from the corner of his eyes every 30 seconds.

“So,” Rick finished, “the poor bastard went to county prison for seven days.”

Jesus shook his head with a smile. “Wow. That’s insane.”

“It was, that’s for sure,” Rick answered.

Daryl stole another glance at the mirror. A smile still lingered on the younger man’s lips and his eyes were crinkled at the corners. As he looked into the back seat, Daryl remembered the first night he met Jesus: the unconscious man’s head had kept lolling onto his shoulder as Rick drove in the dark. Daryl had elbowed Jesus off in frustration—the prick had pissed him off with the truck incident and annoyed him with his stupid nickname and cocky attitude. It was strange how much had changed since then.

Just as Daryl was about to flick his eyes back at the paved road, Jesus’ eyes caught his own in the mirror. Cheeks heated, Daryl feigned a cough and dug into his back pocket for his pack of Marlboro’s. He slid one cigarette into his mouth and lit it quickly with his lighter. Smoke filled the front seat and billowed out the window as he exhaled.

Despite Daryl’s effort to casually brush off the moment, Rick turned his head and asked, “You alright?”

Daryl looked ahead, ignoring the hotness in his cheeks. “M’fine,” he grumbled.

Rick just raised his brows and returned his eyes to the road, choosing not to prod further.

Jesus, however, scooted forward and leaned over so he could reach Daryl’s seat. He placed his left hand around the edge of the seat, fingertips nearly brushing the older man’s bicep. “You sure?” he asked.

Daryl couldn’t help but turn his head slightly to glance back at the younger man. Jesus’ eyebrows were knit in concern, but a sly smirk played on his lips. Daryl felt his face get even hotter before looking back ahead and taking another drag of his cigarette.

Rick glanced between them briefly, but settled his eyes back on the road.

After breathing out the smoke, Daryl growled, “When’re we supposed to get to this joint anyway?”

Jesus hadn’t moved from his spot behind Daryl’s seat. In fact, he’d slid up closer, leaning his right arm behind the headrest. “Let me check the map,” he said.

The younger man pulled out the small map from his pocket. He unfolded the crinkled sheets and drifted his index finger along the path of the highway. “Looks like it should be coming up soon, actually. Maybe 5, 6 miles.”

Rick hummed. “Good, we made better time than I thought.”

 

* * *

 

The electronics store was small, that was for sure. It was the last shop in an old, hidden strip mall off the highway exit. Rick was right—the place was obscure enough that it hadn’t been completely looted out yet. Plus, most people went straight for the food and medicine. Not many survivors were looking for gadgets and iPhones; they’d realized a while back most that technology had lost its usefulness.

As they wandered through the tiny shop, the three found an unopened pack of walkie-talkies, but no batteries. Rick placed the item in his bag and walked towards a back door labeled ‘Stock Room.’ The man pulled out his gun and said, “Gonna check in here.”

Daryl looked at Rick. “Want us to come?”

“I’ve got it. You two keep looking for batteries,” he said before entering the room.

Daryl watched the door for a few minutes, just in case. He knew Rick could handle himself, so he walked over to where Jesus was rummaging through the racks on the wall.

“Find anythin’ else?” Daryl rasped.

The younger man sighed. “No, not really. Although they have a bunch of awesome used CD’s.”

“You like music?” Daryl asked. Well if that wasn't the stupidest question he’d asked so far, he wasn’t sure what was.

Jesus grinned at him with a quirked brow. “Yes, like most humans I do enjoy music, Daryl.”

“You ain’t ever talked about it,” Daryl stumbled, face red. “I’unno—”

The younger man chuckled and bumped his shoulder against Daryl’s bicep. “You’re cute,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

Daryl’s stomach felt like it was turning inside out and he was sure his entire body was flushed red. He couldn’t have heard that right.

“Anyway,” the younger man continued, “I’m surprised they have some of these. _Sufjan_? Wow.”

“What the hell’s a Soof-yan?” Daryl growled, trying to sound casual even though his heart was still racing.

Jesus smiled. “An artist, Sufjan Stevens. I listened to him ages ago. This album was my favorite.”

Daryl followed Jesus’ eyes to the CD on the wall. He’d never heard of the guy. Hell, he’d never heard of half of the artists' names plastered on the cases in the racks. When he was younger, he didn’t have a CD player or anything like that. He’d just listen to whatever Merle played in his car or his Dad would blast on the stereo in the house. He’d never had his own mp3 player, either. He’d just listen to the radio if he wanted to hear music.

The archer glanced back at Jesus, who was now pulling the CD in question from the wall. He turned it around, eyes scanning the track-list.

Daryl remembered seeing an iPod in his home back in Alexandria, although it’d been long dead. The town had power from the solar panels, so he could charge it in theory. He wondered if it had music still on there. He didn’t think many people would have CD players laying around anymore, though. Maybe in a stereo or DVD player or something. Now that he thought about it, he had seen some equipment in his living room near the old TV. Maybe Jesus could use that.

“There might be somethin’ at my place that could play it, I d’unno,” Daryl shrugged.

“Yeah, I think I might have a DVD player that would work too,” Jesus voiced distractedly, eyes still on the CD.

Daryl swallowed. That was good. So why did he suddenly feel disappointed? He cleared his throat, forcing the thought from his head. “Mhm, that’s uh, that’s good,” he managed.

Jesus turned, sensing Daryl’s awkwardness. His blue-green eyes looked gently into Daryl’s own. “But I’d love to come over and listen to it with you, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.

Daryl flushed. He looked down and shrugged. “I, uh, yea.”

Jesus smiled softly, brows raised. “Yeah?”

“I’m assuming you two haven’t found any batteries,” came a voice to Daryl and Jesus’ right. Both men turned at the same time, startled.

Rick was looking between them, eye brows raised in strange amusement. Daryl wondered how much his friend heard of their earlier conversation. Regardless, Daryl was too busy feeling humiliated to form a coherent response.

Thankfully, Jesus spoke up. “No luck in the stock room?”

Rick shook his head. “Nothing we need.”

“Shit,” Jesus breathed.

“Yeah. Well, at least we got the walkie,” Rick replied.

“Mm,” the younger man hummed. “Should we leave then?”

“We can, unless there’s something else you two want,” Rick added, motioning towards the wall of CD’s.

“Nah, let’s go,” Daryl growled quickly before walking towards the entrance. He needed to get out before he embarrassed himself further.

 

* * *

 

After the lackluster showing at the electronics store, the three men had explored the remaining shops in the strip mall. They figured after all that time driving up the highway, they might as well check out everything while they had the chance. They gathered a few different supplies from each of the stores, and Jesus even found some unused bottles of aspirin in the drug store, which was a pleasant surprise given the emptiness of the shop.

The trio didn’t arrive back in Alexandria until mid-afternoon. Jesus followed Rick to help him put away the supplies they’d found, but Daryl was exhausted given his lack of sleep and went straight home. After snacking on some cereal, Daryl made his way upstairs. He toed off his boots once he arrived into his room and peeled off his vest, tossing it onto his bed. Soon enough Daryl was stretched out on the bed as well, eyes drifting closed.

That’s when he heard the knock on his front door.

Daryl reluctantly raised himself up and padded down the stairs. When he opened the front door, Jesus was standing in front of him. He’d changed into a white quarter-sleeved shirt and jeans, and his beard looked freshly trimmed. One hand held the CD from the electronics shop, and the other clasped a bottle of whiskey. Daryl felt the familiar tightness in his chest.

“You busy?” the younger man asked.

Daryl should say yes, that he was going to sleep and that they’d see each other tomorrow. Instead, Daryl just opened the door wider. “Nah, come in,” he rasped, cheeks pink.

After a few minutes, both men settled on Daryl’s couch. Jesus took a swig directly from the whiskey bottle. Daryl had been too lazy to find glasses.

“So, should we try this thing?” Jesus said, motioning to the CD on the coffee table. The younger man twisted the bottle’s cap back on and placed the whiskey on the table, switching it for the disc case.

Daryl hummed in affirmation before sitting up and heading towards the old TV in the corner of the room. The boxy television sat atop a glass stand, which opened with little black knobs. Daryl kneeled down and pulled the small doors open to reveal two separate devices. One was a VHS player, Daryl recognized. Below that was a newer DVD player.

“Hey, c’mere. Think this’ll work,” Daryl called as he bent lower to turn on the machine.

“Uh, Daryl, I don’t think so.”

“Nah, my brother used to put CD’s in his DVD player all the time at parties. Should be fine.”

“No, Daryl, uh, you might want to turn around.”

Daryl shifted his body around so he could look at Jesus. The younger man was standing up, holding the opened CD case. Jesus flipped it so that the inside was facing Daryl.

It was empty.

“Shit,” Daryl breathed.

The smaller man gave a small laugh. “I forgot how much lighter these were when they were empty,” he said, waving the case. “It didn’t even occur to me to look inside.”

Daryl stood up. He had an idea.

“Wait, I got somethin’ else,” Daryl mumbled before heading upstairs to the second bedroom.

Daryl knew the room must have belonged to an older son, due to the posters and general decor. He rarely went inside, but that’s where he remembered seeing that iPod. He opened one of the bedside drawers and rummaged through the papers until he found the device. Beneath it, unbelievably, was a charger. He hadn’t noticed that before.

When Daryl arrived back downstairs a few minutes later, Jesus was sitting on the couch, a quizzical look on his face.

Daryl walked over and handed him the device. “Maybe it’s got something you like on it.”

“Is this an iPod?”

“Yeah.”

“Does it work?” Jesus said, eyes wide.

“Dunno, want to find out?”

The younger man grinned. “Hell yes, obviously.”

Daryl couldn’t help but smile softly.

Jesus stood up, carrying the iPod in one hand, and walked to an open outlet near the far wall. He plugged in the charger and placed the device on the floor, letting it charge.

“And now we wait,” he sighed.

 

* * *

 

Daryl and Jesus sat on the couch, drinking whiskey and waiting for the iPod to charge. They’d been passing the bottle between themselves, which only made Daryl’s perpetual heart-racing worse. Something about putting an object to his mouth that had just been touching Jesus’ lips made him feel…strange. Giddy almost. He must be drunk as well as exhausted, he told himself.

“So,” Jesus started after they’d finished their previous conversation about the younger man’s love for martial arts. “Your brother threw a lot of parties, then?”

“Huh?” Daryl said, mind admittedly hazy from all the alcohol.

Jesus laughed breathily. “You said he used the DVD player to play music at parties?”

“Oh. Yea, Merle was always fuckin’ around,” Daryl said.

The younger man shifted closer, turning his body towards Daryl. “And you were…partaking in said ‘fucking around’?” he smirked.

“Not really, just never really had anywhere else to go,” Daryl shrugged. “Usually just minded my own business.”

Jesus quirked the corner of his mouth. “I wish I could have been at one of these Dixon parties.”

Daryl gave him a look. “Hell nah.”

“Why,” Jesus smirked. “Would you have been embarrassed to bring the hippy ninja boy?”

Daryl went red. He took another swig of the whiskey before answering. “No. S’just, Merle was always high with his tweeker friends, it’s not the kinda place I’d want you.”

Jesus paused with understanding and nodded. “Well,” he started softly, “Even if that was happening, I would’ve enjoyed being around you.”

Once again, Daryl’s heart sped up. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or general lack of sleep, but this time it felt nice. Really nice.

Suddenly, a small beeping noise came from the device on the floor. The two men sat up and looked at the iPod. The screen was white.

Jesus walked over and picked it up, unplugging the charger. “Holy shit, it works.”

“C’mere,” Daryl rasped.

Jesus returned to his position on the couch, except this time he sat right next to Daryl. The smaller man’s clothed shoulder brushed against the skin of his exposed arm, sending shivers up Daryl’s spine.

The younger man shifted himself so that Daryl could see the iPod in his hands. Jesus swiped over the bright screen until a list of songs came into view. With a press of a button, music flowed out of the tiny speakers.

Jesus smiled. “Nice job, Dixon.”

They sat together for the next thirty minutes, listening to music and chatting easily. Whoever owned the iPod before the turn had an eclectic taste; the shuffled list would go from heavy rock to a piano concerto, from an indie ballad to a rap song filled with expletives. The two had made a drinking game out of it: whoever guessed the next genre correctly didn’t have to take a shot. Daryl proved to be horrible at the game, and Jesus had felt so bad he started taking shots along with him even if his own guess was right.

“Okay,” Jesus said as a particularly long electronic song was nearing its end, “what’s next.”

“I’unno, country.”

“Daryl, country was your last three guesses.”

“So? Haven’t heard any country, have we? Must be one in there.”

Jesus laughed, brushing his arm against Daryl’s. It felt good.

“Maybe the kid hated country. I know I did,” the younger man replied after a moment.

Daryl snorted. “Well, what’s your guess then?”

“I’m going with another hiphop song.”

The synth of the electronic song then came to a close. After a few seconds,[ an airy guitar melody bloomed from the small device](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moPUIs4N3IE).

Daryl smirked. “Ain’t hiphop.”

“Yeah, well it’s not country eith—”

Jesus stopped, brows knit. “Wait,” he said, picking up the iPod from the coffee table. He leaned back towards Daryl, holding the small device in his hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s an acoustic version, but this is Sufjan.”

Daryl scooted closer—so that he could see the iPod, of course. Not because he wanted Jesus’ warm arm against him again. Not because he missed that racing feeling in his chest or the fluttering in his stomach.

“You mean from the CD?” Daryl asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Jesus breathed, eyes on Daryl as the soft song filled the air around them. He smiled.

Daryl couldn’t control the small smile forming on his own lips. “We could just play it on repeat, kinda like hearing the album.”

Jesus laughed. “Okay.”

As he lay on the couch listening to the calming melody with Jesus, mind foggy from the whiskey, Daryl couldn’t help but close his eyes. He breathed in gently and let his chest fall into a calm rhythm. In his sleepy haze, he felt soft skin run against his right hand and fingers intertwine with his own, gently squeezing. Maybe he was dreaming already, but Daryl squeezed back before drifting off to silent sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your feedback. You guys are amazing.
> 
> Please comment below if you enjoyed! And as always, visit me on tumblr at darylxjesus.tumblr.com.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment with Jesus leads Daryl to confront his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another chapter! Apologies for the delay, I've been traveling a lot lately. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Daryl woke to pitch black.

Blinking slowly, he adjusted his eyes to the darkness and processed his surroundings. Before him emerged the shadowy lines of his living room coffee table, then the empty whiskey bottle on the floor, then the television in the corner. That’s right—he’d fallen asleep on the couch.

He vaguely recalled drifting off while it was still light outside, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d actually been out. Regardless of its length, his sleep clearly didn’t do much to dull the throbbing in his head. Damn the whiskey; he hadn’t taken that many shots in a long time.

Shifting, Daryl hazily made an effort to sit up from his lounging position against the arm of the couch. That’s when he realized a heavy weight was splayed against his right side. The archer’s heart rate quickened as he remembered additional details from last night: listening to the iPod with Jesus, taking shots as they predicted each song, falling asleep with Jesus’ hand intertwined with his own.

Daryl slowly turned his head towards Jesus’ sleeping form. The younger man had let go of his hand at some point during the night, but now his torso was pressed softly against Daryl’s side and his head rested atop Daryl’s shoulder—not unlike that first night they met. A few brown strands had fallen in front of Jesus’ face. He looked peaceful. Soft. Daryl swallowed as heat traveled across his own body.

Growing up, Daryl rarely had been comfortable with physical contact. Even harmless touches like Merle putting an arm around his shoulders or patting his back had made him panic with thoughts of his father. Daryl never initiated contact either. He’d always been aloof around people in general, only breaking out of his shell when Merle was around to talk him into it, so being close to others didn’t happen often anyway. As he aged and Merle forced him to open up more, he’d become less on edge about contact. Daryl didn’t mind casual touches, but anything too intimate made him sweat awkwardly and strategize escape routes.

After the turn, it had taken Daryl a while to feel easy around the others. Carol was the first person he trusted enough to touch. Pats on the back, shoulder knocking, hugs—all of it had become natural between them as friends. As family. Rick was the same way. Beth’s innocent hand holds and hugs had made him feel awkward as fuck at first; he had no idea why the damn girl was so adamant about showing affection all the time, especially to someone like him. As they became friends during their time alone, however, he’d grew fond of her easy touches. He still didn’t completely understand it, but something about the teenager’s youthful naïveté made him feel less inhibited. Like he was normal person who could be open with others without completely freaking out.

Jesus made him feel that way, too. But he was definitely freaking out right now.

As much as he had become comfortable with touches from the people he now considered family, this one felt completely different. Maybe it was because Daryl wasn’t exactly experienced being  _this_ physically close to other people. Or maybe it was because he hasn’t known Jesus as long as he’s known Carol or Rick. And Beth too…before what happened. Not that any of them would be sleeping this close to him. Whatever the cause, Daryl hadn't felt this strange about being touched in a very long time.

He felt sweat dripping down his back as his breathing quickened. He needed to get up. Take a shower, cool off. Daryl shifted himself further, trying his best to go slowly and not wake the sleeping man on him, and wiggled his way into a standing position. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair as he looked down at Jesus. He still looked asleep.

As Daryl walked towards the stairs, he heard a rustling behind him. He turned his head quickly—Jesus was now sitting up on the couch, rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand. Daryl froze after the man dropped his hand and looked up at him.

“Hey,” came Jesus’ sleepy voice.

Daryl faced him and swallowed again. He grunted and absentmindedly chewed on his lower lip.

“You okay?” Jesus continued, eyebrows now knit in concern.

The archer just kept biting his lip, managing to raise his shoulder in a half-assed shrug.

“Too much whiskey, huh?” the bearded man murmured with a small smirk.

Daryl snorted and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Yea. S’been a while.” Daryl waited a beat before growling, “Gonna shower.”

Jesus nodded slightly. He stood up, looking uncharacteristically shy. “I should get going then,” he started. “Not sure how late it is, but I’m going to try and sneak a few more hours in before my shift in the morning.”

“Kay,” Daryl managed.

The long-haired man eyed him softly. “I had a really good time tonight.”

Daryl swallowed. His mind was running with things to say. He wanted to express the same sentiment, but instead his mind landed on a safe, “Yea.”

Jesus gave an awkward smile. “Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Night,” he rasped in response, eyes avoiding Jesus’ own.

After Jesus walked out his front door, Daryl let out a deep breath and rubbed his face with both hands. He was so fucking confused. Two minutes ago he was itching to escape from Jesus. Now that he’d actually left, Daryl felt guilty. He hadn’t meant to kick him out like that…or make him feel like Daryl didn’t want to be around him. He’d just freaked out about being slept on, was all. Daryl was sure Jesus picked up on that—the martial artist was perceptive when it came to this sort of thing. He didn’t want Jesus to feel bad about it though. People can’t control what they do when they’re asleep, right? Just like Daryl couldn’t control feeling awkward when other people got too close.

A thought passed through Daryl’s mind: maybe it wasn’t the idea that Jesus was sleeping on him that scared him exactly, but instead the fact that _Jesus_ of all people had been sleeping on him. If Rick had done the same, Daryl would have just pushed his friend off and teased him about it. Carol would never fall asleep like that, but if she did Daryl would have woken her up and told her to go home and get some rest. He would have felt too bad waking Beth up, but he’d have silently tried to remove himself and give the young girl enough room on the couch to sleep peacefully. Daryl knew in his gut his nervousness stemmed from the idea that he kind of _wanted_ to let Jesus stay. And not just because he didn’t want to disturb his sleeping friend, but because Daryl liked him being that close. Something about _Jesus_ made him feel that way, and that put Daryl on edge. That something reminded him of how much he needed a cold shower.

Once upstairs, Daryl removed his clothes and padded into the master bathroom. In the mirror, he observed his matted hair and tanned, grimy skin. He looked filthy. God, now he was even more embarrassed. Not only was Jesus on top of him, but he’d been resting on sweat and dirt. Great.

Daryl turned on the shower and waited a few minutes for the water to get warm. Once under the steam, he washed out his hair with Carol’s strawberry shampoo and rid his body of dirt with soap. The hot water, while cleansing, wasn’t helping the warm, tingly feeling he hadn’t been able to shake since waking to Jesus’ body on his own. Daryl pondered his anxiety further. So Jesus confused him—he’d known that for a while now. But this felt bigger and more alarming than usual. Daryl’s mind quickly wondered if Jesus being gay had anything to do with it. Of course it didn’t. Right?

His line of thought caused him to quickly turn the temperature knob to the opposite side. Daryl sighed and rested his forehead against the tiled wall, letting the chilly water stream against his back. He was so fucked.

 

* * *

 

Early the next morning, Tara knocked on Daryl's front door. The brunette explained how she was heading out on a last-minute run with Glenn and Maggie, and asked if he’d mind covering her shift on watch. Daryl shrugged, agreeing with no issue. It wasn’t until he climbed up to his post and noticed the other person scheduled on watch with him that he regretted his decision.

Jesus.

The man's brown locks were long against the same white shirt he’d fallen asleep in with Daryl. Jesus’ bright eyes locked quickly with his own, surprised. 

“Uh, hey,” Jesus said, tucking a few wisps of hair behind his right ear.

“Hey,” Daryl grunted. He knew his face was red again.

“I thought Tara was on shift with me this morning?”

“She was. Asked me to cover. Some run with Glenn or somethin.”

Jesus nodded and flicked his eyes back over the wall. The sun was beaming directly on him, causing his hair to shine with golden highlights. Daryl wondered if Jesus’ hair had been lighter when he was younger. Daryl’s had been. The archer forcibly dismissed the thought from his mind. Why did he care what Jesus looked like when he was younger?

They spent the next fifteen minutes in an awkward silence, Daryl refusing to acknowledge Jesus’ sideways glances and stares. He knew the man wanted to say something, to start some sort of conversation whether that be about last night or otherwise, but Daryl couldn’t go there right now. He’d just leaned his elbows against the wall and kept looking forward, watching for walkers and others.

After about an hour, Jesus sighed. It was loud enough to startle Daryl, causing him to look over at the man.

“It’s so damn hot,” Jesus breathed as he dug into his pocket. He pulled out an elastic and bent his head slightly forward, tying his hair up in a bun. If Daryl wasn’t already sweating his ass off before, he was now. What the hell was wrong with him and why the fuck did Jesus’ hair make him feel weird all the time?

“Yea,” Daryl croaked in response.

Jesus glanced at him then. “I have an extra one if you want to put yours up too.”

Daryl’s eyes grew wide. “What?”

“Trust me, it helps a lot getting it away from your neck.”

Daryl just blinked. He’d kept his hair on the shorter end most of his life, and had never grown it this long until after the turn. In some sense he preferred the way he looked with longer hair; it covered more of his face and made him feel less exposed. But he never used a damn hair bow to put it up on his head.

Jesus smiled. “Here, let me show you. You can tell me if you like it or not.”

He walked over to Daryl where he was leaned against the wall. Even in his slightly bent position, Daryl was still a fraction taller than Jesus. He froze as the man raised himself on the balls of his feet so that he was above Daryl.

Jesus brought one hand to the back of Daryl’s neck and gently pushed. “Lean your neck forward a bit,” he breathed.

Daryl obliged. It was like his body was on autopilot. He felt Jesus’ hands push his hair over his head, exposing Daryl’s neck and sending shivers down his spine. Soft hands then pulled the hair together and bent the small remainder so that it was wrapped around itself at the crown of his skull. Daryl then felt Jesus tie the elastic around the tiny knot.

Daryl’s heart rate was quickening with every breath. Jesus’ fingertips tapped the back of his neck again. “You can lean up now,” he said softly.

As Daryl raised his head, a few strands that were too short to fit into the bun fell against his neck. He blinked towards Jesus. Daryl didn’t think it was possible to feel more awkward than he did last night with the man pressed against him, but he was wrong. He definitely was freaking out again. Did he really just let Jesus put his hair in a _bun_?

Jesus looked at him expectantly, a small smirk present on his lips. “So, what do you think? Do you feel better?” he asked.

Daryl felt himself flush. He did feel cooler with his hair up, but he’d never admit that out loud. He couldn’t really think about the actual benefits of the bun because all he could concentrate on was the fact that Jesus’ hands had been in his hair. And that it had felt nice.

He was definitely panicking again. He reached up and unraveled the bun and elastic crudely, letting his dark hair return to it’s earlier position. “Nah,” he growled, shoving his hand with the elastic awkwardly towards Jesus, motioning for him to take the tie back.

Another wave of guilt dropped into Daryl’s stomach as Jesus’ face flickered with disappointment. The look was gone as quickly as it came, replaced with a close-lipped smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Keep it, I have plenty,” he said with a casual shrug. “Just in case you change your mind.”

Daryl stared at Jesus before lowering his hand. He awkwardly pocketed the small elastic and leaned back on the wall.

Daryl spent the rest of the watch in silence, occasionally grunting at Jesus’ attempts to make conversation. When Michonne and Aaron arrived to take their place, Daryl felt relieved. He needed to get home and shower again. Anything to get the feeling of Jesus’ body pressed against his own and Jesus’ soft hands in his hair out of his damn head.

 

* * *

 

 Later that night, Daryl sat on his couch, smoking and drinking a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s he’d found in one of his kitchen cabinets.

After the awkward watch with Jesus, Daryl had bolted home. He knew Jesus probably wanted to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong, but he didn’t wait up for the man nor did he even look back in his direction. Daryl just needed some time away from Jesus, was all. To clear his mind.

The second shower had helped calm him down a bit. After he had toweled off and changed, he'd sat on his bed. He hadn’t felt the urge to read it in a long time, but he suddenly thought of the book in his bedside drawer. He'd pulled the drawer open and drew out the psychology book with one hand. Daryl had fingered through the pages until he found the one he’d eared months ago. He remembered stopping when he came to a particularly painful chapter featuring an anecdote of one of the author’s younger abuse patients. It had hit too close to home, reminding Daryl of those nights his father would drag him to the floor for no reason and beat him senseless.

He’d slammed the book shut and tossed it on the bed beside him. After, he'd rubbed his face before standing up and heading down stairs, craving a smoke.

That’s when he’d gone searching for alcohol, finding the bottle of JD in his kitchen. It’d been two, maybe three hours since then. Daryl had been nursing the bottle slowly—he’d probably drunk two shots’ worth total over the entire time he’d been sitting there—but he’d gone through several cigarettes already. He knew he shouldn’t, but nothing was taking off his edge.

As the sun was setting, Daryl heard a knock at his front door. He inhaled sharply. Maybe it wasn’t Jesus. It could be Tara thanking him for covering her watch earlier. Or Rick stopping by or Carol wanting to catch up. He should answer it, just in case.

Daryl padded to the front door reluctantly before squinting into the peep hole. The distorted figure of Jesus stood outside. The man's hair looked wet—he must have just showered. Daryl dropped his forehead against the cool door. He didn’t know if letting Jesus in was a good idea, but he couldn’t ignore him forever. Plus, he’d pretty much been an asshole earlier with the whole hair thing and then running away after watch. He didn’t want Jesus to think he was angry with him.

He opened the door and looked at the man in front of him.

“Can I come in?” Jesus asked.

Daryl swallowed and nodded curtly. He pushed the door open wider and walked back to the couch. Jesus stepped in and shut the door softly before following him to the couch. They both stood between the coffee table and sofa awkwardly, waiting for the other to begin.

“Look, did I do something wrong?” Jesus started, voice earnest. “I’m really sorry if it's about the hair. I shouldn’t have done that without asking you if it was okay first.”

Daryl lowered his eyes and then dropped to the couch. Leaning over to the coffee table, he grabbed another cigarette and lit it. “Ain’t your fault,” Daryl mumbled before taking a drag.

Jesus knit his brows before sitting down next to him. “Daryl—”

“Just don’t worry ‘bout it, alright?” Daryl interrupted. His face was on fire and he couldn’t meet Jesus’ big eyes, which he could feel staring at him. God, this was a mistake. He should have just ignored the damn knocking…

“What are you talking about? Of course I’m worrying about it, Daryl. I know you’re upset about something, and if that something is me I want to make it right.”

“I ain’t upset.”

Jesus sighed. “Daryl, just talk to me okay? You know you can talk to me,” he murmured.

Daryl swallowed again and finally looked over at the man beside him. He felt a pang of emotion as Jesus’ eyes searched his own. Daryl’s throat was closing up and his eyes felt stingy. He looked down again before quickly leaning forward, rubbing out his cigarette on the ashtray, and standing up. “I can’t,” he blurted, voice louder than he intended.

Jesus followed, standing up as well. “This is about last night, isn’t it? Me and you on the couch?”

Daryl blanched. He couldn't do this right now.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was tired, and you hadn’t seemed upset when I sat close to you, and you squeezed my hand so I thought…” Jesus trailed off, voice quiet.

Daryl closed his eyes. He couldn’t fucking do this. He just wanted to disappear, to escape—

“Can I just,” Jesus started again, his wavering voice interrupting Daryl’s thoughts. “Is it because I’m gay? Is that why you felt uncomfortable when you woke up?”

Daryl’s eyes shot open. “What? No—”

“Because if it is, I—”

“Paul, fuck, it ain’t that alright?”

Jesus clenched his jaw, eyes wide. He swallowed. Daryl had never used Jesus’ real name before. He’d also never seen Jesus this way, so vulnerable or self-conscious. Daryl felt his throat close up tighter, like something sat inside that he couldn’t swallow.

“Okay,” Jesus whispered after a few seconds. “Well, if you don’t want me to, I promise I won’t do it again. With the hair too. I’m sorry.”

“Ain't you,” Daryl managed. Part of his nervousness _was_ because of Jesus, but it wasn’t that Daryl didn’t want Jesus near him. He knew that now. He just wasn’t used to anyone being that close. And he liked the man's touches, which just fucking confused him more. If he was normal like other people, maybe this wouldn’t have been such a big fucking deal. But Daryl wasn’t normal, he knew that too.

With that thought, his lips started quivering. Daryl closed his eyes, willing himself not to go there. Daryl hated that he got emotional so quickly. The alcohol wasn’t helping, even in the small amount he’d drank. He wouldn’t cry.

He heard soft footsteps approach him. “Daryl. Daryl look at me.”

Daryl blinked open his eyes and glanced at the slightly shorter man in front of him. God, he hadn’t noticed how nice he looked, even with his wet hair. Now Daryl was even more embarrassed…why did Jesus even want to be around some dirty hick who freaked out and got emotional over the stupidest things…

Daryl couldn’t do this, whatever it was that was happening right now. He knew he was going to cry. He wouldn’t, not in front of Jesus like some damn baby.

“M’fine, just go,” Daryl muttered before turning around gruffly and striding up the stairs that led to the second floor. He walked into his bedroom and ran his hands over his face.

He heard more footsteps approaching. Jesus must have followed him up the stairs and now was approaching his room. Don’t cry, god don't cry.

Once Jesus entered his bedroom, Daryl dropped his hands and turned around. He pretended to be doing something on his bureau, shuffling items around absentmindedly.

“Daryl,” Jesus whispered. The man came closer and stood behind him. He placed one hand softly on Daryl’s shoulder. “Is this okay?”

The archer bit the inside of his lip and turned his neck to look at Jesus behind him. “You ain’t—you don’t have to do that,” he rasped.

Jesus nodded and removed his hand.

“No, I meant. You don’t gotta ask. You touching me doesn’t…it doesn’t upset me. I just ain’t good at being close to people. I just don’t know how to react sometimes. I ain’t…I ain’t good at it.”

Daryl couldn’t believe he just admitted that out loud. His voice was trembling and if Jesus couldn’t tell he was on the verge of crying before, he damn well did now.

Daryl heard Jesus’ breath pick up. The man gently turned Daryl around so that they were facing each other. “Hey,” he murmured, big eyes searching his own softly. “Daryl, that’s okay. That’s completely okay. You’re okay.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Daryl rasped, voice louder. “It ain’t okay. I’m not fucking okay.”

Jesus furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about—”

“Just go, alright?” Daryl growled, voice still trembling.

“No. I’m not going anywhere, Daryl. I want to be here.”

“Why? Why do you even wanna be here?” he growled, voice even louder.

Jesus raised his brows. “Are you serious? I care about you, Daryl,” he said. “Please, just talk to me.”

Daryl dropped his eyes to the ground. For the first time in his life, he wanted to talk about it. Then he remembered the book on his bed. Daryl wasn’t sure what came over him, but he stepped over and picked it up. He shoved the large paperback towards Jesus and the younger man slowly accepted it, confused. His face fell when he read the title: _Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse._

“Was m’dad,” Daryl started, lips quivering again. “Was a long time ago, but after I didn’t really get close to anyone. Even when I was older, I wasn’t good at it…I ain’t good at it. I’m not used to it. M’sorry.”

Jesus looked up then, eyes glistening with wetness in the dying light. “Sorry? God Daryl, don’t ever be sorry,” he whispered, voice unsteady, before dropping the book and pulling Daryl into a tight hug.

That’s when Daryl lost it. He let the tears pour down his face, his shoulders racking with each sob, and Jesus nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Daryl wrapped his arms around Jesus’ back and leaned into the touch. Dropping his forehead, Daryl cried into the thin material of Jesus' shirt as the man whispered soft, soothing words against his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drama, the angst! Next chapter we'll return to our regularly scheduled fluff, but this chapter needed to happen to start the next phase of their relationship, I think. I hope you all enjoyed! Please leave a comment if so. :) 
> 
> As always, follow me on darylxjesus.tumblr.com for more Darus.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Jesus go looking for supplies. Tara invites them to movie night.

“Find anything?”

Daryl knocked around the mess of boxes on the floor with the toe of his boot. He’d been in the damn stock room with Jesus for the past half hour, searching for viable medical supplies. They’d left early that morning with a list of nearby pharmacies from Denise, but nowhere on their journey yielded a return. On their way back to Alexandria, Daryl had noticed a CVS on one of the back roads. At first, the place seemed promising given the remote location and its untouched outdoor appearance; however, once inside the pair quickly realized the convenience store had been looted ages ago. That’s when Jesus suggested checking the stock room just in case, only to find the large space was filled with cardboard boxes strewn across the floor.

“Nah, shit’s all empty,” Daryl grumbled, kicking one stray box into the larger mess pile.

Jesus approached Daryl from where he’d been sifting through some nearby some shelving units. The younger man blew out a deep breath. “Well, we tried.”

Daryl grunted in response. Denise had been asking for specific meds and supplies for weeks, and the medic from Hilltop didn’t have anything she needed in stock either. Daryl turned around, frustrated, and started walking out into the main area of the store.

He heard the quick steps of Jesus behind him. “Hey,” his friend called softly.

Daryl stopped, turning around to face the younger man. Jesus’ eyes were gentle as he stepped in front of him. “We’ll find something, okay?”

“We checked everywhere, ain’t nothing around.”

“So we’ll go back out tomorrow. Head the opposite direction.”

Daryl looked down. Technically they could wait until tomorrow; the medication needed wasn’t pressing. He didn’t know anyone who was seriously ill or dying. Daryl just hated returning empty handed, especially for Denise. She was a good person and gave so much of her time trying to keep everyone healthy. Daryl couldn’t even help her find one damn pill bottle.

Jesus neared closer and reached out, drifting his fingers down Daryl’s forearm until he reached his hand. He intertwined their fingers and squeezed softly. Daryl glanced up at the contact into Jesus’ round eyes. He felt something flutter in his chest.

It had been six weeks since the night Daryl cried in Jesus’ arms. Afterward, Daryl had been beyond embarrassed. He’d always had a problem controlling his emotions when he got upset, but this was completely different than anything he’d experienced before. Daryl hadn’t told anyone about what happened to him—not once, not ever. Carol probably knew, Daryl thought, but he never explicitly brought it up. Even Merle only figured it out because he saw the scars on his back. So when Daryl had finally raised his head from the wet spot on Jesus’ shoulder, his face was red and he couldn’t meet the man’s eyes. He had no idea how to act or what to say.

Part of him was afraid Jesus would edge back, overwhelmed by how quickly Daryl’s emotions escalated just from being slept on. He also didn’t think grown men often cried in Jesus’ presence. However, his worries proved to be unfounded: Jesus just pulled Daryl to the bed, sat them both down on the edge, and talked with him all night.

The younger man let Daryl speak as much and as little as he wanted, listening intently as he held the archer’s hand in his own. Once Daryl got quiet, Jesus asked if he wanted to keep talking. Daryl had shrugged; he didn’t want Jesus to leave nor did he want to go to sleep, but he couldn’t dive deeper into any of his memories. Not yet. Unsurprisingly, Jesus intuited Daryl’s thoughts and began soft words of his own.

After that first night, he’d feared the man would pity Daryl all the time like he was some sad, helpless child. He’d been wrong about that too. Jesus was still the same friend he’d known before, beaming with the confidence and cheekiness that Daryl was so fond of (even though he’d never admit it). However, something did feel different when they were together, as if the air was heavier and lighter at the same time. Daryl found himself staring at the man more often, smirking more often at his stupid jokes, and wanting to talk to him more often—even when he wasn’t around. Jesus seemed different as well: there was something softer about the way he’d look at Daryl, something gentler about his voice when they’d talk. And Daryl often caught him staring back, too.

Daryl had initially expected the younger man to avoid touching him after that night, but Jesus had chosen to do quite the opposite: following the hug they’d shared, Jesus became more tactile than he’d ever been. Daryl had been disappointed by the possibility that Jesus wouldn’t want to be close to him anymore, even if his touches made him nervous for reasons he couldn’t comprehend. However, Jesus once again seemed to understand what Daryl wanted without him ever saying so. From soft brushes to holding hands, Jesus had been touching him more often. It made Daryl’s stomach flip and face turn red as usual, but now the symptoms were always accompanied by a warm, radiating feeling in his chest.

Although they’d shared several hand-holds by this point, Jesus’ fingers sifted between his own still made his heart quicken. Daryl closed his fingers in Jesus’ grasp, eyes still locked on the shorter man in front of him.

“Daryl,” Jesus started, voice gentler than before, “you don’t have to be so hard on yourself. I promise we’ll find something for her. Even if it’s just the damn cotton balls.”

Daryl snorted, lips quirking up as he glanced down at his feet. “Alright.”

Jesus squeezed his hand again. “Okay?”

The archer looked back up at the man’s eyes, which looked bluer than usual today. Maybe it was because of the navy shirt he was wearing. Daryl wasn’t sure, but they looked nice.

“Okay.”

Jesus smiled and gently released Daryl’s hand. “Let’s get home then, I’m starving.”

Daryl followed Jesus out of the CVS and into the small parking lot out front. They’d taken the sedan since it was only the two of them traveling. Daryl popped open the drivers door and sat down, Jesus doing the same on the passenger side.

“You know,” Jesus began as Daryl pulled out of the parking lot, “You could let me drive us one of these days.”

Daryl raised a brow, giving him a look.

“What? I’m a great driver.”

“Yea right,” Daryl snorted. “I saw you drivin’ that truck.”

Jesus scoffed, mocking an exaggerated expression of offense. He picked up an empty candy wrapper Daryl had deposited in the center console and tossed it at his head.

“Hey, the fuck,” Daryl yelped, dodging the wrapper.

The man beside him cackled, smile wide as his head dropped back against the headrest.

“I’m drivin’ here,” Daryl grumbled under his breath. He couldn’t help the smirk growing on his lips as Jesus’ breathy laughter continued.

Jesus reached his left hand out and placed it on Daryl’s thigh near his knee. “I’m sorry,” he breathed between laughs. “You should have seen your face.”

Daryl’s skin felt hot where Jesus’ hand was on him, even through his pants. He blushed.

“Yea, well you definitely ain’t drivin’ now,” Daryl muttered, face red.

Jesus removed his hand a few seconds later, his giggles finally subsiding. “Not if I swipe the keys before you can get to them,” he responded.

“I’ll just get ‘em back.”

The younger man shifted his body so he was facing Daryl. He quirked a brow. “Oh really? And how would you do that?”

Daryl shrugged, facing the road ahead. “I’unno, grab ‘em.”

Jesus let out a loud laugh once more. “Okay, Daryl. Good luck with that.”

“What? M’ bigger than you.”

“So? I’m faster than you, more agile than you. I could kick your ass.”

It was Daryl’s turn to scoff. “Hell nah.”

“Hell _yes_. You’ve seen what I can do, and that shit’s not even scratching the surface.”

“Well I ain’t got no ninja training, but I’m still stronger than you.”

“You know, you’re really asking for another candy wrapper.”

The archer grinned with a white smile, shaking his head slightly as he dropped his right hand to the center console and drove with the other.

Jesus went silent for a few seconds, causing Daryl to glance at him. A smile ghosted on his lips and his eyes were soft.

“What?” Daryl asked.

Jesus smirked, looking down. He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know, it’s just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that before.”

Daryl went red. He paused, unsure what to say. The silence made him feel awkward, so he rasped, “Yea, well I guess you’re funny sometimes.”

“Oh?” Jesus piqued up, brows raised in amusement. “Am I now?”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “In a stupid kinda way.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jesus smiled.

The younger man then reached out his left hand again, only to place it over Daryl’s leaned on the center console.

Daryl blushed deeper, definitely unsure if he should say anything else. So he just let Jesus intertwine their fingers once more and drove steadily with his left hand.

 

* * *

 

It was nearing late afternoon as they continued to drive down the highway, only about thirty minutes from Alexandria. Jesus had dozed off a few times over their trip, but he was now resting against the passenger door, looking out the window. He’d removed his hand from Daryl’s an hour or so back when he first fell asleep. Daryl wasn’t sure why, but he missed the contact. He’d contemplated reaching back out for his hand, but he was far too embarrassed to do that. It was a stupid idea anyway.

As they approached their exit, Jesus shifted from his relaxed position and sat up straight. Daryl glanced over at the man, whose eyebrows were now furrowed in thought.

“What’s up?” Daryl asked, voice cracking from not speaking for so long.

Jesus looked at him and blinked. “Don’t take the exit, go one more down.”

“Why?”

“There’s a small shopping center, I just remembered. There’s a cosmetics store.”

Daryl knit his own brows. “Like makeup?”

“Yeah, makeup, facial and hair products, supplies like cotton balls.”

Daryl met Jesus’ eyes. “You been there? You think they’ll actually have somethin’?”

“A while back, when I still lived at Hilltop. When we looted the place it was relatively untouched. We didn’t take a lot though, we were only on foot and had a few bags. Shampoos, soaps, that kind of thing.”

Looking at the road, Daryl nodded. He moved out of the right lane that led to Alexandria’s exit, and sped ahead to the next.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at their destination. Daryl thought the beauty store might have been a chain; the logo on the front door looked familiar. Maybe he’d seen one back in Georgia. He’d never stepped inside a place like this before, though. Once they entered, Jesus’ prediction proved correct: they found a whole aisle of untouched makeup supplies, including cotton balls. Daryl stuffed as many packets as he could inside his bag as Jesus also picked up tweezers, lotion, soaps, and wipes—none of which were on the list, but might prove useful in a medical setting.

When they'd both finished filling their bags, Jesus walked over and knocked his shoulder against Daryl’s. “Told you we’d find something,” he said.

Daryl turned his head and looked at the shorter man. He hummed in response, keeping his arm against Jesus’ own. As he looked into his friend’s bright eyes, he grew the confidence to snake his hand around Jesus’ and lace their fingers together. Jesus smiled, soft and small.

After a few beats of silence, Daryl cleared his throat and looked away. “You still hungry?”

Jesus chuckled. “Starving as hell. Surprised you didn’t hear my stomach in the car.”

“I got left over soup.”

“Hm, is that an invitation?” Jesus asked with amusement.

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Yea.”

“I’ll come if it doesn't have squirrel in it.”

The archer narrowed his eyes. “Ain’t got no squirrel.”

Jesus laughed. “I’m kidding. Of course I’m coming over.”

Daryl grunted in response, trying to ignore the warmth in his chest. He pulled the shorter man’s arm as he started to turn towards the front door. “C’mon, let’s go.”

When they arrived outside, they parted to kill a few lingering walkers. Then they returned to the sedan, and made their way back home.

 

* * *

  

“This is pretty tasty, I’m not going to lie.”

Jesus was sitting on Daryl’s couch, legs crisscrossed, sipping the leftover broth from his bowl with both hands. Daryl faced him, slurping a spoonful of his own. He swallowed and shrugged his shoulders. “S’just vegetables.”

After Jesus finished his portion, he reached over and placed the bowl on the table. “Well, I liked it. Thank you,” he said as he rested his elbows on the arm of the couch, leaning back but still facing Daryl. His navy t-shirt was wrinkled and rose a bit by his left hip, revealing white skin. Daryl looked away, blushing, and pretended to take another spoonful even though he barely had anything left in the bowl.

“So Denise seemed very happy about her cotton balls,” Jesus said after a few minutes.

“Mhm,” Daryl agreed as he slurped down the rest of the broth from the bowl as Jesus had earlier. His blush was still subsiding, so he was avoiding eye contact.

“You’re a good person.”

Daryl immediately shot his eyes back to Jesus. He lowered his spoon. The smaller man was sitting forward again, leaned slightly over his crossed legs. “Wha—?” Daryl began, confused.

Jesus shifted closer. “You made her day. All because you didn’t want to give up.”

Daryl looked down at his empty bowl. He felt his heart pulse with heat. “Was just cotton balls n’ some stuff. Didn’t even get the medicine,” he mumbled.

“So? Denise hadn’t received _anything_ in what—a month? You saw how happy she was.”

“You were the one who found the place anyway, ain’t me she should be happy with,” Daryl rasped.

Jesus placed his hand on Daryl’s knee, round eyes searching Daryl’s slitted ones. “I remembered it because of you. And I only brought it up because I knew how much finding something meant to you.”

Daryl kept looking at Jesus until it felt like his body would melt. He dropped his eyes to his bowl once more and swallowed.

“You’re a good person,” Jesus repeated.

The archer raised his eyes. “So are you.”

Jesus gave a soft smile. After a few moments, he looked away and pulled his hand back from Daryl’s knee. He leaned back to his earlier position against the arm of the couch.

“I was thinking,” he started, looking up at the ceiling, “I could give you some lessons.”

Daryl straightened his torso, attempting at calming himself down from their conversation. “What’d ya mean?”

“Well, you were complaining about not having any ninja skills.”

Daryl snorted.

“Plus,” Jesus added, looking at Daryl again, “You’ve taken me hunting a few times now. It’s time you learned a few things from my world, you know, to broaden your horizons and all that.”

Daryl shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Jesus smiled.

“Prob’ly gonna regret it though,” Daryl added, confidence returning.

The younger man raised himself on his elbows and gave his signature eyebrow quirk. “How so?”

“Gonna be better than you,” Daryl smirked.

Jesus bit his lip and shook his head. “Jerk,” he muttered with a smile.

“Nah, I’m kidding. You’re real good.”

“Oh, so now you admit it?”

The archer smiled. “Whatever.”

Daryl was reminded of that night on his front porch, months ago: Jesus explaining why he loved martial arts so much, about his father taking him for lessons when he was just a kid. He also remembered Jesus referencing getting knocked around as the impetus for his passion. Daryl swallowed, the giddy feeling in his chest replaced with concern. Even with what happened that night six weeks ago, he hadn’t thought of Jesus’ reference once. He felt like an asshole for not bringing it up.

Jesus must have noticed Daryl’s sudden change in mood, because he sat up again and neared closer. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothin’, never mind,” Daryl mumbled.

Jesus gave him the look that he always did when he knew Daryl wanted to talk but felt too nervous. Daryl bit his lip and met his eyes, acquiescing. “S’just—I remember you said somethin’ ‘bout getting knocked around as a kid?”

The younger man paused, clearly not expecting that. “Oh,” he whispered.

Jesus looked down briefly, then moved closer to Daryl so their knees were touching. He took a deep breath. “Listen,” he started, voice soft, “It wasn’t…it wasn’t like what happened to you. I knew I was gay from a young age and my parents were very liberal, thank god, so they supported me to be who I wanted—who I was. So I became very open and confident about it at school. You know, during those stupid Valentine’s Day celebrations I’d always give my cards to boys, that sort of thing.”

“Of course, my classmates didn't like that too much,” Jesus continued. “Not their fault really, it was Virginia and most parents didn’t raise their children to be as open-minded as mine had back then. But there were some kids who were just plain cruel, you know? I was short for my age and they used to call me ‘pretty boy’ and all that stereotypical homophobic bullshit. Some thought I was lying, that I wasn’t actually gay and was just some attention addict, and the others believed me and were disgusted that I was shoving it in everyone’s face all the time.

“Both types liked to bully me whenever possible, and I was a little shit so I started fights. Except I was extremely uncoordinated so they never ended well,” Jesus added with a sad laugh. “It became worse in middle school though, and I was almost suspended one time. I was the one who got beaten up, but according to the principal I “instigated” the action. So my dad took me for karate lessons, and then he and my mom enrolled me in a more liberal private school. Once I started excelling in my classes, both karate and in school, I became really confident in myself. There were still homophobes of course, especially in high school, but I had great friends and I never dealt with that kind of thing again.”

Jesus settled his eyes on Daryl’s. “So it’s not the same, don't worry.”

Daryl was silent for a minute before rasping, “Just ‘cause it’s different doesn’t mean it’s less important.”

“Daryl, a few dumb-ass kids gave me a black eye once or twice. I’m never going to say that’s anything near what you went through.”

“I was bullied too,” Daryl murmured. “Was quiet, so most of ‘em didn’t really know I existed, but kids would laugh at me because I was stupid, ‘cause never knew the answers in class. Others knew about my family ‘cause of Merle, and just hated me for that. My town was poor, so no one was that well off, but they’d still make fun of me for bein’ white trash or whatever.”

“What my dad did was different, yeah,” Daryl added after a pause, eyes facing down at the now cold bowl in his hands, “but the shit those kids said still hurt. And you still got hurt. They hit you and that’s not okay. You went through somethin’ and even though it’s different it still matters.”

“Daryl,” Jesus breathed. The man placed his hands on the bowl and gently slipped it from Daryl’s grasp. Daryl looked up, embarrassed and confused, and watched him place it beside his on the coffee table. He then returned to his place and took both of Daryl’s hands into his own.

“I’m okay now, I promise,” Jesus whispered. His eyes looked glassier than before. “Thank you for saying that, though. It means a lot to me.”

Daryl swallowed. He blinked and looked down at their hands. “Sorry I didn’t say somethin’ earlier, I hadn’t thought of it.”

Jesus shook his head, glancing downward. “Please, don’t be. I forgot I even said anything about it.”

Daryl nodded. He waited a few seconds before taking a breath and continuing. “Paul?”

His friend looked up, brows raised. Even though Daryl tried to call him by his real name more often, Jesus still acted surprised whenever he’d use it. “Yeah?” he asked, squeezing Daryl’s hands gently.

“So they never hurt you again? In high school or anythin’?”

Jesus gave a sad smile. “Never, not physically at least. To be honest, most guys who started saying shit about me typically were closeted assholes who wanted to hook up.”

At the mention of guys wanting to be with Jesus, Daryl’s stomach suddenly dropped. He swallowed, not understanding why he felt so upset. It angered Daryl that people didn’t treat him right, and that was definitely part of it, but there was something else there too. He didn’t like that those assholes wanted to be with Jesus, especially physically. They didn’t deserve to be that close to someone as good as him.

“Hey, look at me,” Jesus said, shaking their intertwined hands. Daryl looked up. Jesus was smiling softly. “I promise nothing happened.”

“‘Kay,” Daryl rasped.

Jesus smiled again. His cheeks looked pink. “You know, you don't think you are, but you're kind of the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

Daryl coughed awkwardly, his face so hot it felt like he'd just gotten sunburn. “What? Shut up,” he growled.

The younger man laughed, eyes squinty. “Okay, fine, I take it back. You’re a complete asshole. Better?” he teased.

Daryl grunted, rolling his eyes and lips quirking up. He felt his blush toning down, but his whole body felt warm. “Prick.”

Jesus smiled again. He rubbed one thumb over the rough skin of Daryl’s hand a few times before drifting both of his own out of their clutch and rubbing them over his face. “Ugh, I have to be on watch soon don't I?”

Daryl perked up. He hadn't realized how much time they’d wasted just sitting on the couch eating and talking. That tended to happen a lot now, actually. Daryl looked out the window—the sun had lowered and the sky was getting duller. He'd guess it was around 6:00 pm.

“What time’s your shift start?” Daryl asked.

“Six.”

“Yea, I think that’s now.”

Jesus sighed, rubbing his face again. “Shit.”

Daryl shrugged. “I’ll take the shift, if you don’t wanna go.”

“I don’t want to go, but if you went I’d still be in the same situation,” he mumbled through his hands.

Daryl swallowed. What did that mean? Maybe he hadn’t heard it right.

“Thank you for offering, though,” Jesus said once he’d lowered his hands. He turned himself so he was facing normally on the couch, bent down and picked up his boots, and started putting them back on. After he’d tied them up, he stood.

“Alright, well, I’m off,” he sighed.

Daryl nodded. “What time you finished?”

“Ten.”

“I’ll be here,” Daryl shrugged, looking up at his friend from the couch.

Jesus smirked. “Okay, see you then.”

The younger man placed his hand briefly on Daryl’s shoulder before heading out the front door. Once he was gone, Daryl pushed himself down the couch, laying on his back. He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. He might as well get some rest before Jesus returned.

 

* * *

 

Daryl woke to a knock on his door. The living room was dark, so he must have been out for a few hours. He yawned and sat up from the couch. He didn’t want Jesus to wait too long.

When he opened the door, however, Jesus was not there. Instead, Tara stood on his front porch, hair tied up in a pony tail and wearing an oversized flannel. Daryl thought it must have been Denise’s.

“Hey there, Dixon,” she smiled.

Daryl just looked at her, eyes narrowed.

“Oh-kay,” she breathed, raising her brows. “Anyway, we’re having this movie night thing, sort of? We got the old VCR player in our house to work, and Maggie has this movie she wants to watch. We’ve got wine, popcorn, the works. You’re invited.”

“M’busy,” Daryl growled. He probably would’ve refused the invitation anyway, but Jesus would probably be getting off his shift soon. He didn’t want his friend to show up to an empty house.

“Don’t worry, Jesus is already there.”

Daryl stood up straighter. “What?”

Tara smirked. “He was going to come get you, but I offered. He told me that if you tried any excuses to let you know he was already there.”

“He wants me to come?” Daryl asked, voice soft. 

Tara’s smile widened. She wore an expression Daryl could quite place. “Come on, let’s go. Before those dummies drink all the wine.”

The archer took a breath and agreed silently, stepping outside onto the porch and closing the door behind him.

Ten minutes later he walked inside Tara and Denise’s home. Candles lit the living room in a hazy warmth, and the soft sound of chatter filled the air. Tara walked through the door frame of the foyer into the living room announced, “We have arrived!”

Denise perked up from where she sat on the sectional couch. “Daryl, you came! My cotton ball savior,” she beamed. Daryl raised his brow, awkwardly hovering near the door frame. The blonde woman had a large cup of wine in her hands, which was nearly empty. She must be a bit tipsy, Daryl thought. Tara sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey,” he said in response. He managed a small smile, but was soon distracted by the others in the room. He scanned the couch—Maggie and Glenn were cuddled in the far corner laughing at something, Eugene and Rosita sat next to Tara and Denise on the other end of the couch and were sending him small waves, and Carl sat with Judith on his lap beside Glenn. The young teen was munching on a handful of popcorn from the bowl beside him.

Daryl walked over to Carl. “Hey Lil’ Asskicker, it’s been a while,” he said to Rick’s child.

Carl snorted, swallowing the popcorn. “Can’t believe you still call her that.”

“Hey, don’t make fun. She’s gonna love it when she’s older.”

The young toddler cooed, smiling.

“See? She likes it,” Daryl said, bending down to softly ruffle her blonde waves.

“Maybe she just likes you,” came a voice behind Daryl. He turned his head to see Jesus standing behind him, an amused smile on his face.

Daryl stood, clearing his throat. “Hey.”

Jesus smiled. “Hey. Glad you came.” He took a few steps and sat down in the large space between Tara and Carl. “Saved us a spot,” he added, patting the empty spot next to him.

Something about the way Jesus said us sent warmth throughout his body. Maybe it was all the damn candles.

Daryl sat down next to him and gnawed on his lower lip, unsure what to do. They hadn’t hung out together in large groups much before. At least, not sitting together…like they were a pair or something.

“Alright, let’s get this party started,” Tara said suddenly, cutting through the idle chatter of the others. She stood up from her spot with Denise and moved to the VCR player hooked up to the television. She pressed play, the screen buzzing to life with color, and sat back on the couch.

“What’re we watchin’ anyway,” Daryl whispered to Jesus.

“A romantic comedy, I believe. Maggie picked it.”

Daryl grunted. He hated those.

Jesus leaned forward and looked toward Maggie and Glenn, placing his hand on Daryl’s knee as leverage. “Hey, Maggie, what movie are we watching?”

“ _Notting Hill_ ,” she called between chews, the bowl of popcorn now passed down to her end from Carl.

Daryl hadn’t heard of anything like that before. Not that it mattered—all he could concentrate on was how warm Jesus’ hand felt through his jeans.

“Don’t think I’ve seen it,” Jesus frowned. “Is that the one with Julia Roberts when she runs away from the wedding?”

“Nuh-uh, Hugh Grant who falls in love with celebrity Julia Roberts,” Maggie corrected, mouth full.

Jesus leaned back, removing his hand from Daryl’s knee. The archer glanced over at Maggie, who was smiling smugly at them both. Daryl flushed and looked away. He felt too hot. He was sweating. This was a horrible idea.

“Not sure how I feel about Julia Roberts. At least Hugh Grant is hot,” Jesus whispered just to Daryl.

As if on cue, the main male character walked on screen, skinny and charming with tousled hair. Something about seeing the actor and hearing Jesus’ words made Daryl very uneasy. Daryl looked nothing like this Hugh person.

Daryl’s face burned with heat at the thought. Why the hell did he care if he looked like some damn celebrity?

A sudden realization made his entire body flush and his heart drop into his stomach.

As the people around him laughed and _awwed_ at the movie, and Jesus whispered sarcastic critiques just to him, Daryl’s mind raced, singularly focused on one thought: Daryl wanted Jesus to be attracted to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment if you enjoyed the chapter, it honestly helps me write faster. :) Thanks for all your feedback!! 
> 
> Come talk with me on tumblr: darylxjesus.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl ponders his realization and has his first martial arts lesson.

Daryl bent over the sink, cupping his hands under the running faucet, and splashed cool water over his clammy face. It was nearly three in the morning and he still couldn’t fucking sleep—he’d been tossing and turning in his sweaty sheets, mind racing at what he’d discovered a few hours earlier.

Throughout the movie he’d tried to remain calm, forcing his brain to concentrate on the film instead of the man sitting so close next to him. He’d failed horribly: every romantic moment the characters had on screen, as stupid and corny as they were, reminded Daryl of Jesus. It didn’t help that when his friend would turn his head to mock the dialogue or plot, his soft whisper would brush against the space between Daryl’s ear and neck. The sensation sent his entire body into heat, making it even more difficult for him to focus on anything other than his nerve-wracking epiphany.

He’d walked home with Jesus once the movie ended and tried his best to act natural; Daryl didn’t want his friend to suspect something was wrong. He wasn’t completely sure what his mind had puzzled together anyway, so it was best not to worry him. The archer had gone to bed anxious and confused, hoping he’d just sleep off the random thought and wake up with things back to normal. Of course that failed as well, and now he stood in his bathroom seeing if splashes of cold water would help. After he dried his face with collar of his cotton shirt, Daryl blinked into the mirror and sighed.

It didn’t even make any sense. Why should he care if Jesus was attracted to him or not? It wasn’t like…it wasn’t like he was gay, or anything.

Shit, he needed a cigarette.

Daryl walked into his bedroom and rummaged through the bedside drawer, searching for his lighter and pack of Marlboros in the dark. Once he found the items and lit up, he flopped back onto his bed before taking a drag and blowing out the smoke into the air above him. As he lay smoking, Daryl pondered his situation further.

Maybe his mind was a bit messed up because he wasn’t used to the sort of friendship he and Jesus shared. Maybe he didn’t like the idea of the younger man liking other people because he didn’t want things to change between them. It didn’t have to mean anything serious. Right?

No, that wasn’t it. Daryl inhaled and exhaled another breath of smoke.

It was just…if Jesus was going to be attracted to any of the guys in Alexandria, it would make sense if it were Daryl. He was the closest to Jesus. They got along well, they were good friends. They understood each other. That must be why the thought came into Daryl’s head. It wasn’t that he wanted Jesus to be attracted to him, it was just that it made logical sense for Jesus to be attracted to him.

No, that wasn’t right either.

Firstly, Jesus shouldn’t have to be attracted to anyone just because he was gay. Secondly, something about categorizing the man as just another one of his friends didn’t sit right in Daryl’s stomach. What he felt when he was around the younger man was…different. Much different.

Okay, so maybe Daryl _did_ want Jesus to think he was attractive. And the thought of Jesus being attracted to other people _did_ bother him. It made him feel…jealous.

Fuck.

Daryl took another deep drag and exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his other hand.

He liked Jesus. A lot. And after the night where he’d cried and shared a part of himself he’d never shared with anyone, the soft spot for Jesus in his chest turned into a fucking gaping hole. He’d felt similar pangs of affection before, but with the younger man it was like the emotion was turned on all the time. He couldn’t remember feeling this way with anyone else in his life. In his mind, Daryl had attributed his confusion to the stirrings of a blossoming, close friendship that he’d never experienced before. He’d never known anyone remotely like Jesus, so it made sense not to have had similar feelings for his other friends.

But Daryl’s feelings spanned outside the territory of normal friendship and he knew it. Maybe he always knew it, deep down.

The archer sat up from his reclining position and deposited his dying cigarette in the ashtray on his bedside table. He perched his elbows on his knees and dropped his head to his hands. He was so fucking confused.

If he felt affection that was stronger than friendship for Jesus, then it was possible he felt some sort of attraction too, no? Now that he thought about it, there had been a few moments where his body would react to things his mind couldn’t quite comprehend—the color of Jesus’ eyes, the way they’d get all crinkly when he’d laugh, the way he’d wear his hair up in that damn bun and his neck would be exposed, the way his skin looked soft when his shirt would lift and reveal a bit too much—okay, so maybe there were a lot of moments.

He’d always had known, objectively of course, that Jesus was a good looking person. Now, as he contemplated all this shit in his head, Daryl realized just how much he liked the way Jesus looked. Paul was…attractive.

Shit.

Merle would have slapped him upside the head if he’d ever said something like that out loud. He didn’t want to think what his father would have done.

But…Daryl wasn’t gay. The truth was, Daryl had never felt much attraction toward anyone in his life. Sex, hooking up, whatever—none of it had ever really mattered to him. Merle used to give him shit for being a virgin for so long that Daryl had ultimately made up a story about fucking some girl at a bar just to get him to shut up. Even though he wasn’t that experienced, he had been attracted to girls before. Never guys. And after the turn, he hadn’t felt anything sexual toward anyone.

He wasn’t sure what the fuck any of that meant now, though. Why was he feeling these things for Jesus?

Daryl sighed, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. He wasn’t going to figure it out tonight. After beginning to feel lightheaded, Daryl dropped back onto his piled pillows and tucked himself under the top sheet. He raked back the larger comforter, unable to handle the warmth in the night heat. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the blackness behind his eyelids, eventually drifting off into sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Daryl slept in later than he had in weeks. At around three in the afternoon, the archer finally padded downstairs, yawning groggily, and grabbed one of the cereal boxes from his pantry. He sat himself on the saggy living room couch and ate directly from the box, reaching his hand inside the crinkly paper and pulling out handfuls of stale corn puffs. They still tasted decent—at least by Daryl’s standards.

About three handfuls later, a hard knock reverberated from his front door. That’s when his mind retreated to last night’s dilemma, remembering his internal back and forth. He still hadn’t figured out what the hell was wrong with him. And now Jesus was probably standing outside his front door. Fuck.

Technically, Daryl could ignore him. Say he slept late. However, it was already past three and Jesus was likely worried by now. The last time Daryl overslept, Jesus broke into his house just to check on him.

Daryl stood up and brushed the cereal crumbs off of his shirt. As he approached the door, he glanced at himself in the foyer mirror. His dark hair was matted in the front and a few stray, greasy strands poked out in weird directions. The bags under his eyes were more prominent than usual, and the grown out scruff on his chin was greying.

Even if Daryl did feel something toward Jesus, why the fuck would the man ever return the feeling? Paul was probably attracted to good looking, young, put-together guys, like that Hugh asshole. Not disheveled, aging rednecks.

Another fervent knock snapped Daryl out of his thoughts, and he began to feel his breath pick up with nervousness.

“It’s me. I came by a few times. You okay?” came Jesus’ muffled voice behind the door.

Daryl paused. He quickly tried to brush through his hair with his fingertips, and then made his way to the door. He unlocked it and opened the door quickly.

“Hey,” Daryl grunted, face red. Fuck. He was already being awkward.

Jesus stood before him, dark honey brown hair on his shoulders, wearing a sleeveless, baggy tank top. He looked like he’d been doing work, or something, because his arms glistened with sweat and small spots of the shirt near his sternum stuck to his wet skin. After Daryl realized he was staring, he shot his eyes back up to Jesus’ face, whose brows were quirked in a questioning expression.

“You alright?” Jesus asked, concerned.

Daryl swallowed and gave the best shrug he could muster. “Mhm,” he added as he walked inside, inviting his friend to follow silently.  
Jesus clicked the door shut behind him. He walked closer so he was in front of Daryl. The younger man raised his brows again, clearly doubtful of Daryl’s terse answer.

Daryl shrugged again. “Didn’t sleep right, too hot.”

He could tell Jesus wasn’t completely convinced, but the younger man didn’t push any further. Instead, his expression softened as he stepped closer. Jesus reached out and raised his left hand to Daryl’s head, brushing down a few of the archer’s wily dark strands. “I can see that,” he murmured, smirk growing, “your hair’s all over the place.”

Daryl’s heart was beating so hard it felt like it might burst out of his damn chest. Jesus’ hand was in his hair again. And Daryl looked horrible, a mess.

Jesus smiled softly and dropped his hand to brush against Daryl’s own. “I didn’t mean it like that, it looks cute.“

Daryl flushed. He felt something warm radiate out from his chest. The compliment embarrassed him, of course, but he felt…glad, too.

Fuck. Daryl definitely liked the idea of Jesus finding him attractive. He felt his stomach turn, anxious.

Before Jesus could question why Daryl seemed so nervous, the archer broke away from his gaze and walked towards the couch where he’d left the box of cereal. He picked it up and pretended to be concerned with closing the top flap correctly, the wax paper crinkling loudly.

He glanced quickly at Jesus before making his way to the pantry to put back the cereal. The younger man wore a confused, yet slightly amused, expression on his face. Daryl knew he suspected something was up.

Thankfully, Jesus didn’t ask. Instead, he quirked a brow and said, "So, last night was fun.”

Daryl continued to pretend he was putting away the cereal box, shuffling other items to make room. “Yea,” he grunted.

He heard Jesus approach the couch and sit down. “It’s nice to still do things like that,” the younger man continued. “It’s almost like the undead isn’t wandering around outside, ready to kill us.”

Daryl turned and looked at him. The man had tucked one leg underneath himself and dropped his head against the pillows so that his hair drifted over the back of the sofa. Jesus glanced to the side to meet his eyes, his own large and bright. “I’m glad you were there with me. I had a good time, even if the movie was shit.”

His chest swelled as he took in his friends words. God, Daryl wasn’t going to survive the damn day now that his mind decided to fuck itself up. Jesus looked small tucked on his couch like that, and the skin peeking through where the holes of his tank top dipped near the side of his ribs looked soft. Daryl wondered what it would feel like underneath his hands.

Daryl willed the thought from his head as he felt heat rush down his body. This wasn’t good.

The archer looked up to meet Jesus’ eyes. The younger man had definitely noticed him staring, and was now assessing Daryl softly with his too-big eyes, dropping them and raising them quickly once along the length of his body. Jesus’ look made the heat already pooling near Daryl’s stomach drop lower and his heart-rate speed even higher.

Breaking the moment, Daryl cleared his throat and motioned to the stairs behind him. “Should probl'y shower,” he managed, voice cracking.

Jesus blinked and transitioned back to his usual cheeky grin. “You sure? You’re just going to get sweaty again.”

Wait, what did that mean? Daryl inhaled to slow his racing heart.

His friend stood, stretching his arms behind his back. Daryl knew Jesus was in shape, but he’d always looked so soft and lean he’d never realized how fit he actually was. Daryl flushed.

The smaller man cocked his head and smirked. “Relax. Our training session, remember?”

Oh, right. Jesus had offered to teach Daryl some martial arts skills yesterday afternoon. When they’d been sitting on the couch, talking, holding hands…

Daryl swallowed. He hadn’t realized Jesus meant this soon. “S'that today?” he rasped.

“If you want it to be.”

Daryl paused. “Uh,” he shrugged awkwardly, “yea, sure.”

His mouth had acted without completely thinking the decision through. He’d meant to give himself some space in order to figure out what was happening with him, but Daryl had done the opposite. Great.

Jesus smiled. “Wonderful. Change into something comfortable and meet me outside in ten?”

Daryl nodded. “‘Kay.”

After his friend left and closed the door behind him, Daryl exhaled and rubbed his face with both hands. Maybe everything would be fine. Daryl was just confused, that’s all. Maybe it was best that he returned to his normal routines with Jesus, that way he could see that nothing’s changed.

He took another deep breath and made his way upstairs to find something suitable to wear.

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Daryl was still upstairs in his bedroom. It was taking him longer than expected to get ready—he wasn’t exactly sure what his friend had meant by 'comfortable’ clothing. He didn’t own anything that was made specifically for athletic activity; he’d always been fine wearing t-shirts or button-ups and a pair of jeans. Daryl tried throwing on one of the shirts he’d wear to sleep, but it looked too large and baggy in the mirror.

So, Daryl proceeded to rifle through the closet of his master bedroom, searching for something else to wear. He hadn’t worn much from inside given that the previous owner was a few sizes larger than him. That’s when he remembered the second bedroom, the one that must have belonged to the man’s son. When he’d first moved into the house, he’d checked all the closets and crawl spaces for useful items, including the teen’s room. Nothing inside caught Daryl’s attention and he hadn’t been back since.

When he rummaged through the closet for the second time, however, he was surprised to find a few tops that looked his size. He pulled one of the larger black t-shirts from its hanger and stretched it over his head. It was a bit too snug around his upper back and shoulders, but the rest hung nicely over his abdomen. The cotton had a stretch to it, almost like Lycra, so it felt comfortable. He decided that would work, threw on some jeans and his boots, brushed through his hair, and headed downstairs.

When he stepped outside onto his front porch, Jesus was waiting for him on the steps. At the sound of Daryl’s boots on the creaking wood, the smaller man perked up and pushed himself into a standing position, turning around.

“Took you long enou—”

Jesus stopped mid-sentence. His mouth was slightly parted as he dropped his eyes and raised them over Daryl’s body, settling on his torso. After a few seconds of staring, Jesus blinked his eyes back up to Daryl’s. He cleared his throat and smiled, obviously trying to act casual.

“So, you ready to go?” Jesus asked as if nothing just happened.

Daryl was blushing. “Yea. Uh, sorry m’late.”

Jesus looked away and shrugged. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I was working on my tan,” he joked, motioning to where he’d been sitting in the sun on the porch steps.

Daryl couldn’t help but snort, which seemed to ease the awkward tension as Jesus broke into a mirthful grin, eyes crinkly around the edges. The archer returned the smile with his own quirked lips.

“Where we goin’ anyway,” Daryl rasped.

Jesus stepped down the stairs and off the porch, Daryl following suit. “I was thinking my back yard. There’s a good open space on the grass.”

The younger man then turned around and started walking backwards.“I’d do it out front, but I don’t want you to be embarrassed when I kick your ass,” he smirked.

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “Yea right.”

Once they arrived in his backyard a few seconds later, Jesus stopped in the middle of the grassy patch behind the small patio area. He bent his neck side to side and stretched his arms behind his back as he had earlier. He was still wearing the same outfit from before, and Daryl tried not to stare at his skin again.

“Okay, let’s start with something simple. Hit me.”

Daryl swallowed. “What?”

Jesus smirked. “Just try to hit me.”

“Ain’t hurting you.”

The younger man relaxed then, realizing how his words might have sounded. He walked over to Daryl and took one hand into his own. “I’m not actually going to let anything happen, don’t worry,” he explained. “I just want to see your form.”

“Not that you’d actually be able to hit me,” he added, returning his smirk.

Daryl rolled his eyes then, lips quirking up. “Fine. What should I do?”

Jesus scrunched his lips and shrugged. “Just pretend I’m some asshole trying to steal your supplies.” The younger man closed the space between them further and reached his hands around Daryl’s waist as if he were trying to grab something from his back pocket. Daryl responded by pushing him back lightly with both hands on the man’s shoulders. The outer edges of his palms met Jesus’ skin. It felt smooth.

The martial artist quirked a brow. “Really? C’mon, you’ve hit me harder than that before.”

“Didn’t know ya back then,” Daryl shrugged.

“You don’t know said asshole trying to steal your precious knife either,” breathed Jesus as he quickly grabbed the knife hooked on Daryl’s pants, slipped it out of its sheath, and threw it across the ground in one swift move.

The martial artist grinned as Daryl narrowed his eyes.

“Come on, Daryl, just pretend,” whispered Jesus, moving in closer again.

The archer then closed both fists and raised his right arm as if he were going to punch Jesus. His limb barely made it an inch before Jesus stopped it’s path with his left forearm and lunged his right arm forward toward Daryl’s nose.

Jesus froze his form. “See, would have broken your nose if you tried to do that.”

Daryl grunted. Jesus dropped the stance and placed both hands over Daryl’s.

“First mistake. Your hands are too low,” he murmured, pulling them up softy so his elbows were completely bent. “If you’re on the defensive, it’s best to keep them here.”

Daryl’s heart started beating quicker, and it wasn't from their actions. Jesus’ body was so close and it was making his skin prickle with goosebumps.

Jesus flicked his eyes up to Daryl’s. This near, Daryl could see that there was a small freckle in his left eye. His thoughts were interrupted by the younger man closing his hands in a fist around his own.

“Second mistake,” he continued. “Avoid clenching your fists too early. It gives away your next move.”

The younger man then extended his fingers out and pushed Daryl’s with them so that their palms were touching. “Keep your hands open, like you’re giving up. That’s my favorite trick.”

Jesus met Daryl’s eyes again. After a moment, the man stepped back and broke their touch apart. “Watch,” he said. The man stood normally and raised both bent arms up, palms facing Daryl. He looked like he was asking not to be hit.

“Now pretend you’re gonna punch me again with both hands—slowly so I can show you.”

Daryl obliged, extending his arm gently towards the direction of Jesus’ face. The martial artist turned his forearm so that it blocked Daryl’s move. The archer shot his other arm towards Jesus, which the man pushed off easily as well. Jesus then jammed the heel of his opposite hand toward Daryl’s nose.

“See, your opponent will be caught off guard in this position,” Jesus started. “If they see you ball your fists, they might throw in a lower kick—or if they’re with others they might be more likely to call for help. If you look like you have no idea what you’re doing, however, it’s easier to get a block in.”

The martial artist then wiggled the hand aimed for Daryl’s face. “Also, going for the nose with the heel of your palm is more effective. You won’t have to worry about your wrist being angled correctly with a punch, you can just go full force.”

Jesus dropped his hands and took a breath. “Let’s try it again, this time I’ll attack you.”

The pair practiced the move a few more times until Daryl was able to block Jesus no matter the angle he tried to attack. They’d moved on to correct stances, kicks, grapples, pressure points, and evasion techniques. Jesus was unsurprised to find Daryl was a quick learner, but there were several moments when Daryl just plain refused to comply with his suggestions on the grounds that they were “stupid.” As Jesus tried to teach Daryl a jumping kick, Daryl frowned and grunted.

“What?” Jesus exhaled, out of breath from his previous move.

“Ain’t doin’ that.”

“Why not?”

“S’dumb.”

Jesus cocked a brow, amused. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Just is. Never gonna do that.”

“You might need to.”

“Nah, I’ll just stab ‘em.”

The younger man rolled his eyes and shook his head, unable to stop himself from smiling. “Okay, Daryl. The whole point of martial arts is to neutralize your enemies without mortally injuring or killing them, but that works too I guess,” he said sarcastically.

Daryl smirked. “I ain’t nice like you.”

“He-y,” Jesus intoned, pushing Daryl’s shoulder with his palm, “I am not _nice_.”

Daryl’s close-lipped smile grew wider. “Yea, you are.”

“Well, if I’m _nice_ , then you’re a saint,” his friend countered.

“Ain’t you the one who calls themselves Jesus?”

Jesus bit his lip, smiling. He entered Daryl’s space again so they were close. “You talk game Dixon, but you’re a big softy. I know this.”

Daryl shrugged. “Nah.”

“Yep, you’re a sweetheart. It’s why I like you so much.” Jesus’ face faltered from his cocky grin, like he just realized that he’d actually said those words out loud. Daryl felt his body flush and heart race as their eyes locked.

Jesus recovered quickly and smiled. “I think we covered enough today. Want a drink?”

Daryl swallowed and shrugged one arm, trying to act nonchalant even though his mind kept repeating the same phrase over and over: _It’s why I like you so much._

“Yea, okay,” he responded.

Jesus smiled softly. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Even though it was barely past eight in the evening, Daryl was tipsy. He and Jesus had started with one glass of Jack Daniel’s when they first sat down on his friend’s couch to chat. Daryl had purposefully placed himself on the opposite side of the sofa, as far removed as he could be from Jesus, only because every time their bodies were close his mind started racing with thoughts of last night’s realization and his friend’s words during their training.

Somehow, however, one glass escalated into several shots over the next few hours. Jesus’ stomach started growling so he’d gotten up to fix dinner for them both, and now Daryl was sitting alone on the couch nursing the remainder of the bottle himself.

It was probably a bad idea, but Daryl had never been great at making wise choices anyway.

“Honestly, she was kind of a bitch—and I mean that in the least misogynistic way possible. If you just listen to the way her character was written, like the dialogue for example, she’s just not that good of a person,” Jesus rambled from the kitchen, projecting his voice over the sound of frying vegetables. The younger man had started another discussion about last night’s movie. Daryl had learned his friend was quite the film critic, so to speak.

“I know they tried to humanize her with the celebrity angle, but still,” Jesus added once he turned off the stove.

Daryl snorted. “Yea, don’t get why that guy was into her so quickly.”

“Well, she’s hot, objectively speaking. That’s probably why.”

Daryl felt himself blush, which just embarrassed him even more. They were talking about fictional characters. He needed to calm down. Good thing Jesus was busy cooking and not facing him.

He heard the man pulling plates from the cupboard, and then a pause.

“Do you think she's hot?” Jesus asked. The question came casually as if it were a natural progression from his last statement, but Daryl could tell his voice sounded different. Off.

Daryl felt his face turn deep red. He clutched the neck of the Jack bottle with one hand and shrugged. “I-I’unno,” he rasped.

Jesus then padded over to the couch with two plates of fried vegetables. He handed one to Daryl.

“Here you are, stir-fry minus the rice. Since we don’t have any.”

Daryl placed the bottle of alcohol on the small coffee table to accommodate his plate and fork. He promptly stuffed his mouth with a few peppers to avoid having to continue the conversation.

Unfortunately, Jesus had other plans. The smaller man scooted towards Daryl, at first just to reach the JD bottle for a swig of his own. However, he didn’t return to his earlier spot, and settled himself next to Daryl so that the knees of his crossed legs touched Daryl’s own.

“ _I’unno_ because she’s not your type, or…” he continued after he placed the bottle back down.

Daryl swallowed his food and flicked his eyes to the ground. “I..I dunno.”

Fuck. This was a horrible fucking idea.

Jesus nodded and swallowed a forkful of his own dinner. “Can I ask you something?” he said after a minute, voice soft.

Daryl raised his eyes to meet Jesus’. “What?”

“Do you like girls?”

Daryl blushed, knitting his brows. “Uh…”

“I mean, romantically. Sexually,” Jesus clarified. “Are you interested in women?”

If it weren’t Jesus he was talking to, Daryl would have already made some excuse and gotten the fuck out of this situation. He was so embarrassed and didn’t know why. It wasn’t a hard question. And he already knew the answer.

Didn’t he?

Daryl looked anywhere besides Jesus’ face.

“Uh..I..I dunno…yeah, I guess?”

Jesus was quiet for a second, and then hummed softly. “And guys?”

Daryl’s eyes shot to Jesus’ on their own accord. His heart was hammering wildly in his chest, his entire body burned with heat, and his fingers felt like they were losing grip on his damn plate.

“W-what?” he managed.

Jesus’ cheeks seemed a bit pink too, but his eyes were locked determinedly on Daryl’s. “Are you interested in men, as well?”

 _As well?_ Daryl thought back to last night, when he’d been writing off his weird feelings for Jesus given that he’d been attracted toward women in the past.

“I…that’s a thing?” Daryl felt like head-butting himself with the bottle of fucking Jack. What the fuck kind of question was that? What was he doing?

Jesus’ expression perked up at his question. He quirked a brow. “You mean _bisexuality_? Yes, it’s a thing Daryl.”

“Is that like…half...gay?”

Jesus snorted. “No, um, not exactly. Bisexuality is when a person is attracted to both men and women. Sometimes the attraction is much greater for one gender over the other, sometimes not. Sometimes that changes over time. It really depends on the person.

“Also, some individuals don’t want or need to define their sexuality. They’re okay liking whoever they want, regardless of whether they’re a woman or a man or any other gender.”

The smaller man grabbed the bottle of Jack and took a long swig. He seemed a bit drunk, too.

Daryl didn’t know why, but his stomach was turning and his chest felt hot and tingly. Part of that was the alcohol—he was definitely on the drunker side of tipsy himself—but something about Jesus’ words hit close to home.

“I—I dunno, maybe,” Daryl breathed.

Fuck. What the fuck was he doing? Shit.

Jesus turned his head, eyes wide. “Maybe what?”

Daryl met Jesus’ eyes. The alcohol was giving him courage, so he just let his blabbering mouth take control. “I…maybe guys too. I dunno,” he whispered, chest hammering.

“You…have you in the past? I mean, have you ever been with a guy?”

Daryl paused and shook his head. “No.”

Fuck. What was he doing? He hadn’t even figured out the whole debacle from last night, and now he was suddenly admitting to the guy that made him question his own sexuality that he might not be that interested in women—not that he ever was—and that he now might also be interested in men? It must be the alcohol. It had to be. He was just confused. He should take back what he said, leave, and pretend this whole thing never happened.

Daryl swallowed and glanced at the man beside him, who was now finishing off the last of the Jack Daniel’s. He drifted his eyes along the younger man’s profile: the eyelashes of his closed lids were soft against his white skin, the slope of his nose was perfect and sweet, and his full lips looked pink and warm around the bottle.

Fuck, who was Daryl kidding? He liked Jesus. He liked him. He fucking _liked_ him. Jesus was so special to him and he was fucking beautiful.

Daryl needed to get out of there. Now.

As he pushed his hands on the couch to stand up, however, he felt a sharp pain in his back near his shoulder. He hissed involuntarily, which caught the attention of the man beside him.

Jesus placed the bottle on the floor and turned toward Daryl. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Uh..I dunno,” he shrugged, trying to act casual. Unfortunately, the shrug just made the pain worse and he cringed.

“Shit, Daryl, what happened?” Jesus asked, voice concerned, and shifted closer to Daryl.

“It’s fine,” he growled, face red.

“Doesn’t sound fine. Where’s it hurt?”

“Back—shoulder, somethin.’ It’s fin—”

Before Daryl could finish his sentence, Jesus placed his hands on Daryl’s shoulders and began kneading the skin through his shirt. The younger man shifted again so the angle was less awkward, and deepened the massage.

Daryl let his shoulders relax at the touch. He was beyond embarrassed and awkward right now, but it felt so fucking nice.

“Used to strain my shoulders all the time when I first started,” whispered Jesus, “it’s all the punching routines. I’ll make sure we stretch next time.”

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” the younger man added after a minute.

“Ain’t your fault,” Daryl breathed.

Jesus rubbed his thumbs in the spots where his neck met his shoulder blades and Daryl couldn’t help but let out a soft groan. He heard Jesus’ breath quicken behind him.

The man’s hands were firm but soft and Daryl couldn't remember the last time he felt something so good. He usually hated people touching his back unless it was necessary for medical reasons. But he didn’t want this feeling to end.

Jesus bent closer so that he could deepen the kneading further, and Daryl could feel his soft breath against the sensitive part of his neck. Suddenly, all the heat radiating from his chest fell downward and started to pool in his groin.

Fuck.

Daryl sat up quickly, ignoring the pain in his shoulders. Jesus stood as well, startled.

“I’m…I’m gonna go home. T’bed,” Daryl mumbled, looking everywhere but Jesus’ eyes.

“Oh. Um, okay.”

Daryl looked up. He didn’t want Jesus to think he was angry with him, but he had to leave before his… _situation_ got worse. “Yea, thanks, for uh…everythin.’ Just tired. Didn’t sleep an’ all.”

Jesus shrugged, trying to act casual even though the awkward tension in the air was palpable. “Yeah, of course.”

The younger man opened his mouth again to say something else, but he stopped, deciding against it. Instead, he closed the gap between them and placed a soft, brief kiss against the skin of Daryl’s cheek, the man’s beard gently brushing against his skin.

“Goodnight,” he whispered after he pulled back, eyes searching Daryl’s own.

Daryl stood anchored to the spot, eyes wide. The spot where Jesus’ lips had just touched him burned with heat.

“Yea,” he breathed in response.

As soon as Daryl shut the door behind him on the way out, he exhaled a shuddering breath and dropped his face into his hands.

He was so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh! It's beginning! 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this chapter, it helps inspire me to write more. Your feedback means a lot! 
> 
> Also, added note: Next chapter the story will likely be bumped up from M to E, just a heads up. ;)
> 
> Come talk to me about Darus at darylxjesus.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl navigates the tension between himself and Jesus. The younger man brings Daryl a gift after a successful run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter, just 'cause I love you guys. Thank you all for your support and encouragement!

"So how's Jesus?"

Daryl looked up, breaking his gaze from the hunting knife he'd been toying with idly. Rick had invited him and Maggie over for lunch after they'd finished their shift on watch together. As the two chatted at the kitchen table—mostly about trade routes and Maggie’s pregnancy—Daryl had kept to himself, chewing his crackers and apple slices and playing with his knife.

Now his face was hot with embarrassment as he processed Rick's unexpected question. Daryl blinked.

It had been three weeks since the night he realized his feelings for Jesus. He’d been forcing himself not to think about it, especially because he and the younger man continued to hang out all the time. His friend acted normally for the most part, but the heady tension that arose between them during Daryl’s massage still hadn’t dissipated. Seared in his brain was the feeling of heat welling low in his body and Jesus’ lips against his skin, and Daryl was sure the memory wasn’t fading any time soon. He certainly hadn’t told anyone about what had happened either, and even Rick just mentioning Paul’s nickname set Daryl on edge.

"Fine, I guess," he shrugged awkwardly, averting his eyes from Rick's own. After a moment, he found the courage to look back at his friend and added, "Why you askin' me?"

Rick stifled a smile and raised his brow. Maggie raised her mug of tea to her lips and took a large gulp, knowing amusement twinkling in her eyes.

Daryl turned a darker shade of red. He stiffened. "What?"

Rick glanced at Maggie before shrugging nonchalantly. "Nah, it's just, well, I know you two spend a lot of time together. Haven't talked to him in a while, opposite schedules and all that. Was just wondering how he's doing."

"He's good," Daryl rasped, cheeks still warm.

Rick raised his brows again and nodded. "That's good."

Thankfully, the archer was saved from further embarrassment as Carl pushed open the front door, the screen slapping against wood as it closed. Rick perked up.

“Hey, don’t slam the door like that,” he called to his son.

The teen stepped into the kitchen, wide-brimmed hat setting his patched eye in shadow. The other rolled in frustration. “Sorry, I’m—"

"Hungry?" Rick suggested.

"No, just tired. You might want to come outside, though."

Rick furrowed his brows and tensed.

Carl put out his hand and shook his head, as if to clarify. "Everything's fine. Judy just won't stop crying. Usually Michonne and I can calm her down, but nothing’s working. Eugene even tried singing her some weird lullaby that sounded like a math equation.”

Rick stood up, pushing his chair back from the table. "I'll get her. You go rest."

Carl nodded. He gave a brief 'hey' to Maggie and Daryl before heading out of the kitchen and ascending the stairs to the second level.

"I'll be right back," Rick sighed, making his way toward the front door.

Maggie chuckled. ”Good luck.”

"Yea, yea, soon you’ll be doin’ this too,” Rick smiled, nodding toward her belly bump before heading outside.

After the door clicked shut, Daryl stood. He wanted to go home, wash off, and try building that spear he’d been meaning to test.

“Where you goin’?” Maggie asked.

“Home,” he replied curtly.

Maggie hummed. She stood up as well, placing her right arm on the table to steady herself.

Daryl felt a pang of guilt from not offering to help her stand. Maggie's stomach was large—she was several months along now—and it was getting to the point where she should be resting, not out on watch.

"Ya need help?" Daryl rasped.

Maggie smirked. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid Daryl.”

The archer snorted in response and began walking through the kitchen doorway.

"I just want to say before you leave," she continued, "that I think it's sweet, you and Jesus."

Daryl froze his steps and turned.

"My advice to you is, don’t be afraid to let yourself feel something."

Daryl swallowed, cheeks red. He cleared his throat and began, "I don't know what you're talkin' about—“

Maggie smiled and raised her hand. "You don't have to say anything. Just know I—we all—want you to be happy. You deserve that."

Sweating, Daryl shrugged. "Whatever," he growled before turning back around and walking into the foyer.

"Bye," Maggie called. He gruffly returned his own goodbye as he shut the front door behind him.

The air outside had turned soupy and sticky over the past hour, and the hum of cicadas buzzed through the blistering heat. It was already early September (at least it was according to the calendar they'd been keeping), but the summer warmth hadn't subsided. Daryl squinted his eyes to block the sun as he hopped down Rick's front steps.

Rick and Michonne were walking toward the house, crying Judith in Rick's arms.

"It's way too hot for her to be out here," his friend explained. "Gonna give her a bath."

Daryl grunted in agreement.

Michonne cocked her head toward Daryl. "You leaving?"

"Yea, m'busy," he rasped.  

Rick gave him a look but didn't question it. "Alright, see you later then," he said.

Daryl gave a quick nod to them both before marching onto the paved road and heading home.

Once inside, he stripped off his leather vest, which was too heavy and stifling for the current weather. His sleeveless flannel was stuck to his back in sweat. He unbuttoned and removed that too as he walked up the stairs, and threw both items haphazardly on the floor once he entered his bedroom.

Daryl really wanted a smoke, but he'd ran out of packs a few days ago. Instead, he toed off his boots, flopped onto the bed, and exhaled a deep breath.

What the hell was up with Rick and Maggie? And what were they implying about him and Jesus? Yeah, Daryl did have feelings for him, but it wasn't like anyone else knew that. He wasn't sure if Jesus even felt the same way. For all Daryl knew, the younger man was just trying to be a good friend.

Daryl rubbed his face with both hands. Even if the feeling was mutual, would either of them go there? How would they even go there? Daryl had no idea what the fuck he was doing in general with romantic shit, and he didn't even know what was going on with his...sexuality or whatever. What if Daryl just screwed everything up?

What if...what if something happened to Jesus? Daryl couldn’t lose another person he cared about. Daryl wouldn’t be able to handle it—especially if it were Paul. God, if anything happened to him…

Daryl groaned, rubbing his face harder. How the hell did he get here? When did some cocky marital artist with hippy hair who called himself _Jesus_ become the person he thought about all the fucking time? How did he just walk in and settle himself inside Daryl's chest like it was his all along?

The archer inhaled a deep breath. His mind raced with thoughts of his friend—the sound of his voice when he talked so only Daryl could hear, they way his long hair brushed against his shoulders, his smooth skin, his soft, firm hands…

Suddenly, Daryl's breath hitched as he felt heat rush into his lap. He panicked, remembering the last time this happened during Jesus’ massage. Daryl willed himself to calm down, but thinking about the man's hands kneading his skin just made things worse.

Daryl had been avoiding this aspect of his feelings the most, but now his dick was half hard in his jeans and he couldn’t _not_ think about how much he wished Jesus were here, touching him.

Fuck.

His body took control of his mind as he closed his eyes and imagined Jesus lying next to him, warm skin pressed against his own, hands on his arms, his chest, his torso, traveling down, down…

Daryl shot up from the bed, breathing heavily. He basically leaped from the bedroom to the bathroom, stripping off his pants in the process. He turned on the shower and twisted the temperature knob to the furthest end. Once it was cold enough, Daryl stepped into the tub.

Leaning over, he touched his forehead against the cool tile and let the freezing water calm his aroused body.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, Daryl sat outside on his front porch, knife in hand as he whittled down a tree branch into a pointed spear. He’d been wanting to test hunting with the weapon for weeks now. Rope traps and slingshots weren’t powerful enough to kill large game, and something about crafting his own bow and arrow felt wrong after losing his crossbow. Nothing he could make would compare.

The heat had cooled down a deal from when he’d been outside earlier. The skies were overcast and a strong wind gusted intermittently, turning the leaves on the trees upside down. A storm was coming, Daryl knew that, but he wanted some fresh air before being stuck inside for several hours.

He also wanted to make sure Jesus got home okay from his run with Rosita and Tara, but he’d never admit that out loud.

When he was onto his second spear, Daryl spotted the figures of Jesus and Tara heading down the block. The archer felt his chest swell at the sight of the younger man.

It wasn’t long before Jesus spotted him sitting on his porch, and he raised one of his bare arms in a short wave. Daryl noticed he and Tara’s bags seemed filled to the brim, and quite heavy by the way Jesus was struggling to keep his balanced on one shoulder.

Daryl stood up from his spear making station and hopped down the stairs. He strode over to the pair, who were nearing Jesus’ house next door.

“Hey,” Jesus smiled.

“Ya need help with that?” Daryl offered, feeling oddly nervous.

The younger man raised his brows and his cheeks looked a bit pinker than before. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

Daryl didn’t buy Jesus’ polite answer, especially because the skin peeking out from his shirt where the bag sunk into his shoulder was beat red, so he reached out and slipped the large backpack from the shorter man’s shoulder with one hand.

“The fuck you got in here,” the archer muttered, hoisting the bag onto his own back with a small grunt.

His friend looked surprised for a second before smiling softly. “Thank you.”

Daryl met his eyes, which were grey-blue in the overcast light. He searched them before replying, “Yea, no problem.“

“Don’t mind me over here, casually breaking my back.”

The pair broke their gaze and glanced over at Tara next to them.

Daryl blushed, embarrassed. “I can take yours too.”

Tara grinned. “I’m kidding, Dixon. I’ll survive.”

The woman began walking past Jesus’ house. She winked quickly at the younger man. “You two have a good night together.”

Jesus gave her a look, eyes sharp. “ _Bye_ , Tara.”

Tara mocked a salute before walking off down the street.

The archer grunted. “What was that about?” he asked.

Jesus blinked and shrugged casually with one arm. “Nothing, who knows.”

“Anyway,” the younger man continued before Daryl could question further, “want to bring that inside? Don’t want you to hurt yourself."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Ain't gonna hurt myself,” he mumbled as he ascended the porch stairs.

"Show off," Jesus smiled behind him. Once they were both on the landing, Daryl opened the door.

"Although, if I had arms like yours I'd be showing them off too," the younger man said as he walked into the house.

Daryl's face went red. He stood there, holding the open door even though Jesus was already inside. Did that mean...was that just a friendly compliment or...? Daryl shook off the line of thought and walked into Jesus' home, shutting the door behind him. He dropped the heavy bag gently onto the hardwood floor.

"How was your day?" Jesus asked as he filled two glasses with water from the sink.

Daryl sighed, leaning against the back of the living room couch. "Fine."

The younger man walked over and handed Daryl the cool glass. He settled beside him, resting himself against the couch as well. "Do anything fun?"

"Nah," Daryl shrugged before taking a gulp of the water.

Jesus hummed. "Looked like you were working on something on the porch? More slingshots?" he smirked.

"Spears. Gonna use 'em to hunt."

"Huh. Really going full caveman aren't you."

Daryl shot him narrowed eyes. Jesus kept his face straight for a moment before breaking into a breathy laugh, cheeks pink.

"You're the only caveman 'round here, with that damn hair and beard," Daryl retorted.

Jesus gave another laugh. "Oh please, you love it," he said before bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip.  

Even though the man was kidding, his words made Daryl flush. Feeling awkward, Daryl tilted his head back and finished off the water as a distraction.

After a few beats of silence, Jesus pushed himself up from his leaning position against the couch. "You done?" he asked, motioning toward the empty glass in Daryl's hands.

"Yea, thanks," Daryl rasped, handing him the cup. In the process, his fingertips brushed against the skin of younger man's hand, which sent a shiver down his spine. As Jesus turned around to deposit the used glasses in the kitchen sink, Daryl rubbed his face with both hands. He needed to calm down.

Daryl straightened when his friend turned back around, mischievous glint in his eye. "So, want to see what I got?” he asked.

The archer watched Jesus walk to where he'd deposited the backpack on the floor. "We hit this department store two hours west. It hadn’t opened to the public yet before the turn, so it was essentially untouched,” the younger man started as he bent down. Daryl couldn’t help but stare at the way his tank top stretched along the length of his back.

“Rosita packed all of the useful items,” he continued, unzipping the pack. “Tara and I, however, took some goodies for ourselves.”

Daryl snorted.

“What? There were too many awesome things. For example, I couldn’t _not_ take this,” Jesus said as he pulled a large pink figurine shaped like a giraffe from the open bag.

“The fuck is that?”

“No fucking clue, but it’s awesome."

Daryl couldn’t help but smile, grin white. “You’re an idiot,” he snorted again.

The younger man smirked and looked down, blushing. After a moment, he began, “Come here, I did actually take some good stuff.”

Daryl stepped over to Jesus, who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the bag. The archer sat beside him and raised one knee so he could rest his elbow on top. It was easy to forget everything he was feeling when they joked around, all easy and normal like nothing had changed, but once Daryl got close to Jesus he felt the tension between them reemerge.

“So I found this portable battery pack, could be useful out on runs, these sunglasses, belts, some new clothes—this shirt is really nice—boots, some fancy soaps, lotion, shampoos, plenty of underwear," the man listed as he pulled each from the bag. Daryl blushed at the boxer briefs. Jesus would be wearing those...

Daryl's line of thought was interrupted as his friend continued to pull out items. "Weights, for working out inside when it's too cold, socks, a few books, a blanket, this cool alarm clock, a thermos, winter hats, gloves, and, of course, alcohol," he said as he pulled out a large bottle of rum.

"Didn't know they sold liquor at fancy stores like that," Daryl replied.

"Well, technically they don’t. The place had its own bar and cafe. We packed the car with all of the viable food we could find for the group, as well as alcohol. I was able to swipe this though."

Daryl raised a brow. "Rum?"

"Hey," Jesus smirked, "Rum is delicious. Plus, how much Jack Daniel's and bourbon have we drunk the past few months? We could use something different."

The archer snorted, but his cheeks pinked at the way Jesus said _we._

"You're welcome to take any of this, by the way. If there's anything you like," the younger man added.  

Daryl shrugged. "Nah, that's alright. Stuff's yours."

"You mean you _don't_ want this pink giraffe home decor, Daryl? It'd look great in your kitchen," Jesus smirked, holding up the little statue and pushing it near Daryl's face.

"Fuck off," the older man growled, returning the smirk.

Jesus laughed. "Seriously though, if you want anything take it."

After a minute, Jesus shifted and cleared his throat. The air thickened between them, that strange tension reaching the surface. The younger man glanced at Daryl quickly before turning over the bag, exposing another zipper on the back side.

"I did get something for you though," he said casually, but Daryl could hear the nerves in his voice.

Daryl's stomach flipped.

"You can totally say so if you don't like it, but it just reminded me of you," Jesus added as he unzipped the small pocket. He pulled out a circular band. A bracelet.

The item was made of black leather that wrapped twice around the wrist. The ends were connected by a metal clasp shaped like an arrow, the loop of one side sifted over the head to create a closed circle.

Daryl blinked, staring at the gift in Jesus' hand. It looked expensive. No one would have given him something like this—ever. Not just because of the money, but because gifting wasn't really something his family did.

"It's real leather, according to the display at least. I thought it would look nice with your vest," he said, motioning toward the garment on Daryl's chest.

"And the arrow clasp made me smile, with you always talking about your crossbow and all. I don't know, I just thought if Daryl Dixon was ever going to wear a bracelet, it had to be this one,” Jesus added.

The archer felt warmth radiate from his chest as his heart thumped. He didn’t know what to say. He never wore jewelry before, but he wanted to wear that. Not just because Jesus picked something that matched Daryl’s taste, but because Jesus picked it for him.

“If you don't want it, it’s really fine," Jesus started. Daryl blinked, face turning red. He realized getting lost in thought probably made it seem as if he didn't like the present.

“No, I like it,”  Daryl replied.

Jesus lifted one skeptical brow. "You don't have to pretend.”

“I ain't pretending, Paul,” he replied softly, blue eyes locked on the man beside him.

The younger man stiffened and raised his brows slightly, eyes soft and wide. “Yeah?”

Daryl searched Jesus’ large eyes for several seconds before looking down at the younger man’s hand. He shifted himself closer and reached out to take the small band into his own palm. He unhooked the clasp and attempted to wrap it correctly around his left wrist.

“Here, let me—”

Jesus leaned toward Daryl and brought his fingers around the bracelet, brushing against the sensitive skin of his wrist. He looped the leather around his hand twice, fastened it closed, and pulled it so that the arrow faced his inner arm. “There,” he whispered.

Daryl looked up at him, locking eyes. For a moment neither of them said anything.

Jesus was the first to break the gaze, glancing down at Daryl’s wrist. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do,” Daryl said. “Thanks.”

The younger man smiled, eyes flicking back up to Daryl’s. He placed his right hand over Daryl’s left, intertwining their fingers above his new bracelet. “You’re welcome.”

Daryl’s heart pounded in his ears. Embarrassingly, that wasn’t his only body part making noise: at that moment, his stomach decided to grumble loudly, signaling his own hunger. He hadn’t eaten since the few crackers and apple slices at Rick’s earlier.

Jesus pulled back his hand and chuckled, pushing himself up onto his knees. “I’ll cook us some dinner.”

A pang of guilt mixed with the archer’s embarrassment. The man had been out all day on a run, carried around heavy items, gave Daryl a gift, and now he wanted to make him dinner too? Daryl knew he didn’t have the best manners, but he wouldn’t make Jesus do that.

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, you rest. I’ll make somethin.”

“It’s not a problem, Daryl,” Jesus replied, standing up.

The archer pushed himself up from the ground and stood as well. “What you got? I’ll do it.”

Jesus cocked his head. “Daryl—”

“Fine, if you won’t tell me I’ll make somethin’ up.” Daryl marched into the kitchen and started opening random cabinets. He heard the younger man chuckle behind him.

“Spaghetti’s in the top left cabinet,” he called.

Daryl turned his head to glance at Jesus. He was leaning against the back of the couch again, amused smile on his face.

“Alright,” Daryl rasped, turning back around. “I can do that.”

Daryl heard the younger man walk toward him as he pulled the box from the cabinet. Before he knew what was happening, he felt a hand on the small of his back.

“Thank you,” Jesus murmured before placing a brief kiss on Daryl’s clothed shoulder.

Daryl froze to the spot, his body red with heat and his heart hammering in his chest as the younger man pulled back and stepped away.

“I’m gonna shower quickly. Be back soon,” he said.

The taller man hummed in response, unable to form real words. Once Jesus had ascended the stairs, Daryl placed both hands on the counter and leaned over. He inhaled and exhaled deeply.

He thought back to what Maggie had said earlier. _Don’t be afraid to let yourself feel something_. He was feeling something, that was for sure, but he was fucking terrified.

Daryl forced himself to focus on the task at hand: the spaghetti. He bent down to one of the lower cabinets and pulled out a large pot, filled it with water from the sink, and got to work.

 

* * *

 

“Yeah, so needless to say I never went to that bar again.”

Jesus and Daryl were sitting on the steps of the younger man’s back porch. They’d deposited their finished plates of pasta to the side—which didn’t come out too bad, Daryl would admit—and were now drinking the new rum out of plastic cups. Jesus’ damp hair was still drying from his shower earlier, and he wore a white t-shirt and thin sweat pants. Daryl had never seen the younger man look so relaxed and comfortable. He’d been telling a story about some bar he used to frequent with his friends in D.C., but Daryl couldn’t help be distracted by how soft and small he looked.

“How about you? Any bar horror stories?” Jesus smirked.

Daryl shrugged. “One time Merle punched a bartender because he was bored and caused a bar-fight.”

“For real?” Jesus chucked, taking a sip from his red cup.

“Yea. He was on parole too, the idiot. I had to haul him the hell out of there before the cops showed up.”

The younger man shook his head. “Damn, Merle went hard.”

Daryl snorted. “That’s for sure.”

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the [wind and crickets chirp in the dusky evening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g04EtOyVeHY). The air was heavy and damp and clouds hung dark and bulbous in the sky. It would rain soon, Daryl thought.

A gust of cool wind blew towards them, sending the leaves on the trees swaying upside down and causing Jesus’ hair to flow behind him. Daryl felt himself shiver a bit, unused to the stark contrast from the heat a few hours earlier. He looked over to Jesus and noticed small goosebumps form on the skin of his upper arm.

“It’s getting chilly,” the younger man breathed. “I’m going to have to break out my jacket again.”

“You cold?” Daryl asked.

Jesus looked back at him, turquoise eyes still clear in the dim light. “No, I’m fine.”

Daryl wasn’t sure what he was doing, but before he could process it mentally he was shimmying off his leather vest and handing it to the younger man beside him.

Jesus glanced down at Daryl’s offering hand and blinked. He looked back up to meet Daryl’s eyes, surprised. “Oh, I—that’s okay.”

“Just take it, I can tell your cold,” Daryl rasped, blushing.

The man smiled softly, cheeks pink, and took the leather item. “Thanks,” he whispered, pulling it over himself and fitting his arms through the holes. It was a bit oversized on him, given that his torso was smaller and leaner than Daryl’s.

Jesus pulled it tight around himself so that both edges crossed on his sternum. He locked eyes with Daryl again and smirked. “I feel so special, _the_ Daryl Dixon is letting me wear his vest.”

Daryl snorted, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. He couldn’t help the quirk in his lips or the blush on his cheeks, though. “Yea, well don’t spill no rum on it,” he added before he took a drink of the liquid himself.

The younger man laughed. “With all the blood and guts this thing as seen, I don’t think a little rum would do any harm. But I promise not to soil it, of course,” he joked.

They sat in silence again for a few minutes, neither looking at the other.

 Suddenly, Jesus asked, “If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would it be?”

Daryl cocked his head to look at the man beside him. “What?”

“I mean,” Jesus started, shifting so he was facing Daryl, “where would you want to go if things were still normal?”

“I dunno,” the archer shrugged.

Jesus raised a brow, looking doubtful. “Come on, there had to be somewhere you thought about. Like a vacation or something.”

“Nah,” Daryl replied.

“Even as a kid?”

Daryl chewed on his lower lip. “Honestly, I always just wanted to get outside of Georgia,” he said quickly, raising his cup to his lips and taking a large gulp.

The younger man looked at Daryl for a minute, silently processing his statement. “You mean—”

“Didn’t leave the state until after the turn.”

Jesus blinked at him.

“It’s okay. Definitely wasn’t gonna go anywhere before, not with the way things were,” Daryl continued. “Probably never would have gone to Virginia. Never met you.”

Daryl didn’t mean for that last bit to get in there, and now his heart was hammering wildly, blood pumping in his ears. Fuck.

Jesus was silent next to him. Daryl didn’t have the guts to look over, so he took another drink.

“What are you saying?”

Daryl sipped his cup again before glancing at Jesus. The younger man’s face was soft and open, his raised brows atop widened eyes. The archer took a breath, finding the courage to answer. His buzz from the rum helped.

“Just, I'm happy here with you is all,” Daryl mumbled, eyes flicking down on the nearly empty cup in his hands. “Even with this world…I feel more normal here than I had before. I don’t care about goin’ places—vacation or whatever. Here is good.”

After several seconds of silence, Daryl forced himself to look back at the younger man. Jesus was staring ahead into the backyard, lips parted and eyes searching the darkness as his chest rose and fell quicker than before.

Jesus gently turned his head toward Daryl. The younger man’s cheeks were pink and his hooded eyes were glossy as they locked with Daryl’s own. The archer’s racing heart slowed at the sight of the younger man’s yearning expression. He’d never seen Jesus look at him quite like this before.

“Daryl, I—”

Their moment was cut short suddenly when the sky flashed [bright purple and a loud rumble echoed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IjIWbDlSR6E) into the night. Within seconds, rain pelted down from above.

“Shit,” Daryl rasped, awkwardly fumbling to collect the plates and cups.

Jesus gave a breathy laugh next to him. “Fuck, I’ll get the rum.”

Once the two gathered the items, Jesus slid open the back door and hopped inside. “Quickly, before you get soaked,” he called over the next roar of thunder.

Daryl followed and shut the slider behind them, standing on the doormat. His hair was wet and his shirt was mottled with wet spots from the rain. He glanced over to Jesus, whose chest was pretty dry thanks to Daryl’s vest, but his hair and sweatpants hadn’t fared as well.

“And just as I was drying off too,” Jesus joked.

The younger man wore his signature smirk, but he seemed nervous to Daryl. What was he going to say before the rain started pouring down?

“Here, let me,” the younger man breathed before taking the plates, utensils, and cups from Daryl’s hands. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, wet footprints marking his path, and placed the bottle of rum on the counter and everything else in the sink. “I’ll deal with that tomorrow,” he said as he stepped back to Daryl.

The taller man stood awkwardly on the doormat. Jesus looked at him, assessing Daryl’s wet hair and body. Before the archer could say something, the younger man was climbing the stairs to the second level.

“I’ve got towels and clothes upstairs,” he said softly. “Come on.”

Daryl swallowed nervously as he felt something flip in his stomach. His mind was racing, but his body followed anyway, taking quick steps up the staircase to catch up with the younger man.

 

* * *

 

A few minutes later, Daryl was outside Jesus’ bedroom, standing awkwardly in the doorway as he waited for the man to return from the bathroom inside. Daryl had never been in the room before—the two usually hung out at Daryl’s place, but when they were at Jesus’ they typically stayed downstairs or in the yard. The space itself was very similar to Daryl’s own master: large and open with a window over the front porch, a walk-in closet, and a full bathroom on the left end.

As he waited, the archer listened to the fervent patter of rain on the roof above. Every so often a loud crack of thunder would reverberate into the air, slightly rumbling the entire house. The storm didn’t seem like it would be letting up anytime soon.

Jesus stepped out from the tiled floor then, two large towels in hand. He looked around the room, confused, before realizing Daryl was still standing in the doorway. He cocked his head and smiled softly.

“You can come in, Daryl.”

“Don’t want to get your carpet all wet.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie, but what was really holding him back was the thought of being close to the younger man in his own bedroom.

Jesus furrowed his brows and shrugged. “Oh, I don’t care. Come dry off.”

The archer took a step inside the carpeted floors. His boot made a wet print into the soft material, so he bent over and slipped both off before padding into the room in his socks.

Jesus walked over and handed him a yellow towel. “If you need to use the bathroom, feel free. I’ll find you some new clothes.”

Daryl swallowed, heart beating quicker. “Uh, you don’t have to,” he responded as the younger man headed toward the walk-in closet.

“ _Nonsense,_ Daryl,” Jesus called from inside the closet. Daryl could hear the smirk in his voice.

Lifting the towel in his hands, Daryl dried his hair and patted his face. He ran the material over his arms as well, soaking up any left over moisture. His jeans had guarded his legs, but his chest felt a bit damp under his shirt. He’d have to wait for Jesus to bring him something else to wear before he toweled off his body, though.

Jesus clearly didn’t follow the same train of thought, however, because as he walked out from the closet with Daryl’s clothes in one hand, his other ran his towel down his bare neck. Which was attached to his bare chest. That didn’t have a shirt on it.

Daryl roamed his eyes over Jesus’ shirtless body. The smaller man’s abdomen was lean, but still fit. A trail of brown hair started at his navel and traveled beneath the hem of his rolled sweatpants.

Blinking, Daryl realized he’d been staring and felt his entire body blaze with heat. When he looked up at Jesus’ face, the man’s eyes were looking back at him knowingly. Daryl coughed awkwardly and brought the towel to his face once again, pretending to dry off. He heard the smaller man move toward the bed.

“Here’s a change of clothes. I think they're big enough,” he said softly.

Daryl knew he'd have to stop the towel soon—if he rubbed his face any longer he would look start looking ridiculous. Hopefully his blush had died down a bit, but his thumping heart and the heat stirring near his stomach indicated otherwise.

When Daryl lowered the item, Jesus’ back was toward him, bending over to towel off his hair. The skin looked smooth and unblemished, unlike Daryl’s. Daryl noticed a beauty mark on his right wing-bone. He wanted to know how it felt underneath his fingertips.

The archer inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down. He knew he should just leave, make up some excuse about how he was tired or needed to get home. But he didn’t want to.

Instead, Daryl stepped toward the bed where Jesus had placed the change of clothes: grey sweatpants, a t-shirt, and boxers. He grabbed the items and swallowed. “Thanks.”

Jesus straightened and turned to face Daryl, one arm still rubbing his hair with the towel. “Yeah, no problem. Oh, also your vest is hanging in my closet. It didn’t get that wet but I wanted it to dry nicely.”

Daryl shrugged. “That’s okay, could've just left it on a chair or somethin.”

The younger man smiled, lowering the towel and letting his damp strands fall to his shoulders. “I will not go down as the person who ruined Daryl Dixon’s precious vest,” he said with raised brows and a smirk.

The archer snorted. “Yea, yea.”

He turned and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He stripped off his socks and pants first, and then pulled on the boxers and sweatpants. They were a bit too big, even for Daryl, so he rolled them a few times to keep them stable on his torso. He unbuttoned his shirt next and then ran the towel over his chest. As he moved the cloth over his back, Daryl’s mind wondered if Jesus would like the way he looked, even with the scars. They’d faded over the years, but even now they were still raised and lumpy and red. The archer bent down and grabbed the t-shirt and pulled it over his head quickly. Jesus might be confident enough to go walking around shirtless, but Daryl wasn’t there yet. Especially since Jesus would know what the scars were from.

Changing his mind’s thought progression, Daryl looked at the bracelet on his left hand. His stomach filled with panic—Jesus had said it was real leather, hadn’t he? Daryl placed his fingers on the band to assess the damage, but the item must have had some kind of water resistant protectant on it because it felt dry. He let out a breath of relief.

Finally, Daryl took a breath and began to walk out of the large bathroom. Even rolled, the sweatpants began to fall down his hips. He tried folding the pants again around his waist, but it made him look ridiculous. He sighed and pushed open the door.

“Exactly how big do you think I am,” he grumbled as he walked through, still fiddling with the waist.

Daryl heard a breathy snort in front of him. He looked up: Jesus was sitting on the bed, bare back against the headboard and a book perched on his knees in front of him. The room was dark save for a small lamp on the beside table, which set a dim glow over Jesus’ form. His cheeks looked pink and his lips quirked out into a blossoming smile.

“Well, if I had to guess…” the younger man said offhandedly, quiet enough that Daryl knew he hadn't meant the archer to hear it.

Daryl looked at him, face red. Before he could contemplate what that meant exactly, Jesus was placing the book on his bedside table and scooting forward. “Sorry, I thought those would fit better than the ones I usually wear. I’ll get a different pair,” the younger man said as he turned to hop off the bed.

“Nah, that’s okay, just look stupid is all,” Daryl replied, eyes darting to the floor awkwardly.

Jesus paused. “Trust me, you don’t look stupid,” he said softly, eyes locked on Daryl’s own.

The archer blushed. “Okay.”

The younger man pushed himself back into his earlier position, but now pulled the comforter up and over his legs. Daryl stood facing the bed, unsure what to do.

“You should just stay,” Jesus said suddenly.

Daryl stared, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“I don’t want you to get all wet again. You could wait until it stops, but it seems like it’s going to be a while. It would make sense if you stayed the night. There’s plenty of room,” he continued, motioning toward the empty section of his large king bed.

The taller man dropped his eyes to the floor, chest hammering and stomach doing somersaults. Daryl lived next door. The man could have easily offered Daryl a jacket with a hood or an umbrella and told him to quickly run home. He might have gotten a bit wet, yeah, but it wouldn't have been too bad. 

But Jesus wasn’t offering him that. He was asking Daryl to stay the night. In his bed.

“If you wanted,” Jesus added, blush apparent even in the dim light. “You don’t have to, of course.”

Daryl’s heart was beating so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if Jesus could hear it thumping from across the room. He…he didn’t want to go. But he was scared shitless of what it meant if he stayed.

_Don’t let yourself be afraid to feel something._

Fuck it.

Daryl walked over to the left side of bed, which was empty, and pulled down the covers. Blushing, the archer pushed himself onto the mattress and slipped under the comforter. He took a quick breath before glancing at Jesus, who sat frozen across the bed, eyes wide.

“What?” Daryl grumbled. He knew his cheeks were blazing red, but he didn't care.

Jesus blinked, his own face reddening. “I—uh, nothing. I just, I’m glad you’re staying.”

Daryl nodded, eyes looking up at the ceiling as he slid down into a reclining a position. He shifted himself so that his head lay comfortably on the pillows.

The younger man was silent for a while, but Daryl could feel his gaze on him. After a few minutes, Jesus spoke, “You mind if I turn off the light? I’m pretty beat.”

“Nah, that’s good,” Daryl replied. His chest was still racing.

Once the light was off, both men lay at opposite sides of the bed, neither speaking or looking at the other. It was dark, but the moonlight and lightning flashes provided enough light to keeps things visible.

Suddenly, Daryl felt the mattress shift in weight. He turned his head to see that Jesus was now rolled over, facing him. His heart pumped even faster in his ears.

“I just want you to know,” Jesus murmured over the pattering rain, “it means a lot to me, what you said earlier.”

Daryl swallowed, eyes searching Jesus’ own.

The younger man shifted himself so he was now in the center of the bed. He wasn’t too far from Daryl. Jesus breathed deeply, looking down, and then brought his eyes back up to Daryl’s. He wore the same longing expression as earlier.

“I feel the same way,” Jesus whispered. “I’m so happy I’m here with you.”

Daryl felt his chest swell with emotion. His chest pounded wildly and his eyes began to sting as he looked at the man before him. His big eyes were illuminated in the soft moonlight and his small face looked rested and soft. He was beautiful.

“Paul,” Daryl breathed, voice barely over a whisper.

Before Daryl could realize what was happening, the younger man pushed himself up into Daryl’s space and placed a soft kiss on the side of his cheek near his ear. “Yeah?” he whispered.

The archer closed his eyes and just breathed, mouth open.

Jesus placed another kiss in the same spot, this time for a bit longer. Slowly, he moved himself so he was aligned with Daryl’s right side, bare chest warm against the larger man’s clothed shoulder and exposed arm. “This okay?” he breathed, voice unsteady.

Daryl didn’t think he could form coherent words. His entire body was aflame and his heart kept thumping rapidly. Heat was pooling in his lower abdomen and fuck, he wanted Jesus even closer.

“Mhm,” Daryl managed.

The younger man leaned down and placed a kiss behind his ear. His lips were so soft and warm against his skin and his beard gently brushed against the sensitive part of his neck, sending pleasure through his nerve endings. Daryl’s breath caught in his throat.

Jesus exhaled and moved his lips slightly down Daryl’s neck, kissing him again. This time it was open-mouthed and Daryl could feel the man’s soft breath cool the area where his lips had wet the skin. Daryl let out a soft moan.

At the sound, the younger man traveled down his skin with kisses until he reached the hem of his t-shirt. Jesus pulled back the material and put his mouth on the crook of Daryl’s neck, breathing heavily as he swiped the sensitive area with his tongue and sucked.

Daryl felt pleasure shoot down his neck to his dick, and he couldn't help but groan. It felt so fucking good. Jesus responded with a breathy moan of his own and began kissing and sucking the spot further, wet lips marking his skin.

The archer began hearing more soft moans, and it took him a second to realize they were coming from his own lips. Jesus placed his hand on Daryl’s hip under the covers and broke his mouth away from the skin of his neck. “Fuck, Daryl,” he breathed into his ear.

Jesus drifted the hand on Daryl’s hip over the rolled hem of his sweatpants and toward his crotch. He stopped before he went too far. “Are you hard?” the younger man asked, voice breathy.

Daryl knew if he wasn't under the covers and if it weren't so dark Jesus wouldn’t even have to ask. “Yea,” he moaned softly.

Jesus dropped his forehead to Daryl’s shoulder. He lifted his chin and kissed the clothed skin once before moving his hand ever so slightly toward the bulge in his sweatpants. “You want me to?” he whispered.

Daryl turned his head, finally locking eyes with the smaller man since he began kissing him. Jesus’ lips were pink and puffy and his eyes were hooded, pupils blown. Daryl breathed a few more times before nodding gently.

Jesus let a soft moan escape his lips and gently moved his palm over Daryl’s clothed erection. Daryl grunted loudly at the pressure and before he knew it they were both crushing their lips together.

Jesus rubbed over the sweatpants once, twice, before slipping his hand beneath his waistband and boxers and taking Daryl’s cock into his hand. He thumbed the pre-come at the tip, spread it over the head, and rubbed the wetness down his length. Daryl moaned into Jesus’ lips, and the younger man angled his head to deepen the kiss. With Jesus’ tongue in his mouth and his soft, warm hand encircled and pumping up and down his dick, he’d never been more turned on in his entire life.

It only took a few seconds before Daryl felt a swell of pleasure seep into his groin, and he broke their kiss to moan. He arched his lower back slightly and felt his legs begin to twitch.

Jesus began placing soft kisses on Daryl’s shoulder, but didn’t slow down his hand. “You close, babe?” he breathed.

Daryl grunted and arched his back further as Jesus increased his speed on Daryl’s cock. “Paul,” he whined.

“Yeah? You like that?”

Daryl groaned in response. Jesus kissed his shoulder again and kept pumping, this time twisting his wrist and swiping his thumb across the head once he reached the top.

“Paul, fuck—” Daryl gasped before his entire body swelled with pleasure and come pulsed from his dick, shooting up onto his t-shirt.

Jesus kept moving his hand throughout Daryl’s orgasm, drawing out every last throb of pleasure. Once Daryl was finished, Jesus released his grip and dropped his head to rest against Daryl’s shoulder.

The archer’s chest rose and fell quickly as he came down from his orgasm. After a few moments, he turned his head and shifted himself slightly so he was angled toward the smaller man. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was the feeling of the younger man snuggling up into him and placing a kiss over his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh!!!! It happened!
> 
> Comment below if you liked this chapter -- your feedback really inspires me to write more! (seriously). You're all wonderful! 
> 
> Come talk with me on tumblr: darylxjesus.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Jesus: the morning (and day) after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be very impressed if any of you are still up waiting for this update! Extra kudos to those of you who did. 
> 
> This turned out much longer than I had originally intended it to be. Apologies if you're reading this tonight and there are any small mistakes: I won't be editing it carefully until tomorrow morning.

Eyes closed, Daryl hazily drifted into consciousness as warm rays filtered onto his face through slatted blinds. The sensation radiated from his cheeks down his body, and he felt snug and soft beneath the blankets draped around his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he woke feeling so comfortable and well-rested; sleeping through the night peacefully wasn’t something he was accustomed to experiencing. Suddenly, his mind processed a heavy warmth pressed against his chest. For a moment he wondered what it was, but it only took a few seconds until he knew the answer.

Jesus.

Blinking his crusted eyes open, Daryl was met with the image of the smaller man curled into his chest, forehead and cheek nestled into his t-shirt. Some of his long hair had tufted up above him, and Daryl could feel the wisps tickle against his chin. Jesus’ face looked peaceful and angelic in the morning light, all soft and calm. Almost instinctually, he considered reaching out and pulling Jesus closer so that his own arms were wrapped around his back.

That’s when he remembered everything.

Holy fucking shit.

Daryl inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as the events of last night replayed in his mind. The bracelet, their moment on the porch, the rain, changing in the bathroom, Jesus inviting him to stay, and then—and then Daryl staying.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He hadn’t expected anything like that to happen. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected to happen, but it definitely wasn’t that. _This_.

Shit.

Maggie’s words had fueled him to take the leap and accept Jesus’ proposal. Once he’d slid beneath the cool sheets, however, he hadn’t thought about what would come next. Daryl guessed he just would have laid there, staring at the ceiling awkwardly until he’d fallen asleep. But Jesus' words had been so kind and then he was kissing him and—

Fuck.

Daryl exhaled. He felt his cheeks redden and heart race at a quickening pace as memories flashed like little pictures in his mind.

The archer barely had any experience sexually, so maybe he was just biased, but that was definitely the best thing he’d ever felt in his entire life. Or maybe it wasn't his lack of experience, but the fact that Jesus had been the one doing it to him. Touching him. Kissing him. Suddenly, Daryl felt the stirrings of arousal with the thought of the younger man’s firm hand on his dick, his wet lips marking his neck, his soft moans, his pretty eyes… Daryl inhaled again and forced himself to imagine walker guts to calm down.

Once he felt controlled, the embarrassment began setting in. Stomach turning, Daryl thought back to the specifics of last night’s event. He never let himself be that vulnerable around another person—sexual or otherwise. He was…he couldn't believe the sounds he made, the way he wanted Jesus closer and closer. It wasn’t just physical, either. No one had ever been that intimate with him, that…soft. Just thinking about it made him blush deeply and his heart swell with feelings he knew were too intense to think about right now.

Also, it had been a long time since he… touched himself. The whole thing last night couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes. He knew girls were supposed be turned off by that, and he wondered if Jesus was disappointed.

His cheeks turned even redder as he thought about Jesus. The man hadn’t…he’d just gotten Daryl off and then Daryl had fallen asleep. Should Daryl had offered to do something? He didn’t think Jesus was expecting it, but he felt embarrassed anyway. It was probably for the best, Daryl had no fucking clue what he was doing, he’d never even been with a guy—

Daryl breathed in through his nose, eyes shut. He guessed last night solved part of his confusion about his sexuality, then. He _definitely_ liked last night. God, he fucking liked Jesus so much…

Shit, he was freaking out. And the object of said nervousness was currently curled into his chest, sleeping.

The archer contemplated getting up slowly and slipping out of the house. He could go home. He could pour himself a drink and pretend this never happened. Go on a hunt, get away. Ask Rick or Carol if they wanted to go on a run. There were plenty of things he could do to get himself out of this.

But he didn’t want to get out of this, Daryl realized. Not at all. Even as terrified as he was right now, with thoughts of confusion, embarrassment, and affection circulating through his mind endlessly, he felt something else bubble up beneath his chest. Something warm—giddy, even.

He was…. _happy_.

He was fucking happy about last night, and there was no use in trying to deny it.

At the thought, Daryl opened his eyes and glanced down to the smaller man resting on him. He felt another swell of warmth in his chest and goosebumps prickle down his arms.

He couldn’t believe this was real.

Suddenly, the younger man inhaled deeply and shifted, rubbing his small face against Daryl’s chest. The archer, froze, heart thumping.

Jesus shifted again and blinked his eyes open. They were clear and turquoise in the morning sun, and Daryl thought he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight. The younger man closed them and hummed softly before nestling himself further against Daryl’s chest.

Daryl’s heart was beating so fast, and by the way the younger man’s lips started quirking up at the ends, Jesus could feel it too.

Jesus opened his eyes again and raised his chin so he could meet Daryl’s own. "Morning,” he whispered.

Daryl breathed in. This was actually happening. “Mornin’,” he mumbled in response.

The younger man smiled softly.  “Did you sleep okay?”

Daryl felt his cheeks redden. It was a simple question, but Jesus’ words reminded him of the fact that he’d just woken up in bed after the night they’d shared. Exhaling, he flicked his eyes downward awkwardly. “Yea,” he managed.

After a moment, the younger man lifted his right hand and placed his palm against Daryl’s jaw, sifting his fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. The archer instantly raised his eyes to look back at Jesus. His heart was stammering in his chest and he knew he was breathing heavily and shit he was so nervous and—

“Hey,” Jesus murmured as he softly caressed Daryl's jaw with his thumb. “Come here.”

Jesus gently pushed his hand against Daryl’s neck, pulling him down closer. Daryl felt himself fall into the touch naturally, and he dropped his head until his forehead rested against the smaller man’s.

The two stayed there for a few breaths before Jesus whispered, "I'm really glad this happened."

Daryl's heart was pumping in his ears. As nervous as he was, he wanted Jesus to know he felt the same. ”Me too," he breathed.

Jesus pulled back slightly so that he could meet Daryl’s eyes. The younger man’s expression was so open it sent a swell of emotion through the archer’s chest. After a few beats of silence, Jesus leaned up and pressed a soft kiss against his lips.

Daryl froze for a second, still amazed by the fact that this all was happening, but then gently pressed his lips back, letting the warmth tingling throughout his body take control. Jesus responded by pulling him even closer by the neck, deepening their kiss. The only sound in the room was the soft, puckered clicks of their lips touching one another.

Before the kiss furthered in intensity, Jesus broke away and nuzzled his forehead into the crook of Daryl’s neck. He placed another soft peck on the skin above his t-shirt. The action reminded Daryl of how he’d kissed him last night…

Shit.

Daryl’s cheeks reddened. He should probably say something, shouldn’t he?

“Uh,” Daryl began, clearing his throat, “M’sorry.”

Jesus immediately lifted his head from where it was pressed against Daryl and leaned back to meet his eyes. He knit his brows, concerned. “For what?”

Daryl dropped his eyes. “I uh, it’s just… it’d been a while, and m’ sorry it wasn’t good for you, or whatever,” he mumbled.

“Last night?”

The older man flicked his eyes up back to Jesus’. His heart increased its speed. “Yea.”

Jesus shook his head softly, smirking. “Trust me, it was good for me. You have no idea.”

“But, you…I should've done somethin’ for you.”

“Daryl,” Jesus murmured, reaching his palm out and placing it on his chest, “I wanted last night to be about you—for you to feel good. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything. I still don’t.”

Jesus’ expression changed then, his gentle smile replaced by a nervous frown. “I’m not pressuring you, am I?”

As soon as he saw the look on Jesus’ face, Daryl knew he’d screwed up. “No—s’not what I meant.”

Jesus swallowed and gave a nod, but Daryl could tell he wasn’t completely convinced. “I’ve never done this before,” Daryl continued, voice shaky, “M’sorry if I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The younger man slipped his hand from Daryl’s chest back to his neck. “Daryl, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he whispered, eyes soft. “I don’t care about that, okay?”

Daryl blinked, his chest tingling with warmth. He nodded. “Okay.”

Jesus smiled gently then and leaned up to press another soft kiss against his lips. When he pulled back, he smirked and said, “you probably need a shower, don’t you?”

“You sayin’ I smell?”

The younger man chuckled, smile bright and eyes crinkly. “No, I mean you might need to clean up,” he smirked, motioning downwards with a flick of his eyes.

Daryl blushed. “Oh, uh—”

Jesus smiled again. He placed a quick peck on Daryl’s collar bone before shifting back and pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Go ahead, bathroom’s all yours. Towels are in the closet across from the sink, soap and shampoo and everything are already in the shower.”  
The younger man then turned himself around and scooted off the bed. Daryl watched him walk across the room and into the closet. His hair was wilder than Daryl had ever seen, and he looked so soft and small padding around barefoot in nothing but sweatpants. The archer felt his heart ache.

After a few seconds, Jesus emerged from the closet, pulling a t-shirt over his head. Once he was finished, he gave Daryl an amused look—he definitely knew the older man had been staring. Daryl blushed and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I’m gonna make us some breakfast,” Jesus said before walking over to the door. “Okay?”

Daryl didn’t think it were possible to blush more, but his cheeks deepened their color. “‘Kay,” he rasped in response.

Jesus smirked. "See you in a bit,” he said, walking out the door and down the hall.

Daryl exhaled shakily and rubbed both hands down his face.

Holy shit. This was really happening.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Daryl was in Jesus’ shower, letting the warm water rinse over his body as he closed his eyes and relaxed.

He still couldn’t believe everything—last night, waking up this morning, Jesus smiling and kissing him. Part of Daryl thought this could all be part of a dream. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was having some kind of delusion, like when he saw Merle after he’d passed. Things like this didn’t happen to people like him. Not in reality.

But it _was_ happening. It _was_ real.

Daryl sighed, resting his forehead against the cool tile wall. He wasn’t even sure what it meant, though. What all this meant for their relationship. He knew what happened was more than just… a _friends with benefits_ thing, but he wasn’t sure what was going to happen now that they'd crossed the line of friendship.

Shit, he wished he had a cigarette.

Once finished, Daryl turned the shower off quickly and stepped out into the steamy bathroom. He grabbed the towel he'd picked out for himself and dried off, patting the soft material up and down his body.

That's when he realized he didn't have any clothes to change into. He wrapped the towel around his waist and padded out into the bedroom. He couldn't change back into the clothes Jesus had given him last night—those were…soiled. He didn’t think his clothes from yesterday would be the most comfortable either, so he walked over to Jesus’ closet.

The inside was very orderly—shirts hung perfectly on the top rack and pants were folded on separate hangers on the bottom. Even though the space had originally belonged to someone else, Daryl felt that Jesus was probably the one who kept it so neat. He smirked at the thought.

Daryl picked out a pair of jeans that looked the most like they would fit him, and one of Jesus’ baggier tank tops. The pants fit but were much tighter than he was used to, but the shirt fit fine. Turning around, he spotted his winged vest on a hanger on the back of the door. He pulled it down and slipped it on as well.

Once he finished in the closet, he walked out into the bedroom. He could smell something sweet waft from downstairs. He should probably go down there now.

Nervously, he took a breath and walked out into the hall.

 

* * *

 

Daryl wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see when he arrived in the kitchen, but it definitely wasn’t this.

Jesus’ hair was tied up in a bun as he leaned over the stove, spatula scraping what looked like a pancake from a sizzling frying pan. On the counter beside him sat a stacked plate of finished pancakes, some large and some small. Daryl looked over at the table—Jesus had cleared it and placed a linen table cloth over the top. Two place settings were set next to each other, along with two tall glasses of water. In the center of the table stood the stupid pink giraffe statuette.

Daryl snorted, lips quirking.

Jesus must have sensed his presence, even over the sizzling stove, and turned his head to give a quick smile.

“Hey, go ahead and sit down. I’m ah—almost finished,” he said as he pushed the spatula harder to peel the burnt pancake from the pan.

The archer watched him amusedly before walking over and pushing out one of the chairs. He sat down and looked at the place setting before him. He’d never seen these plates and utensils before. They looked really well made, expensive. Jesus must have found them somewhere.

“So,” Jesus began, walking over and placing the plate of pancakes on the table, “I tried making these for you. But we don’t have any eggs, milk, or butter, of course, so I just used water. They came out a bit…well, you can see.”

Daryl looked at the plate. Some did seem a bit over-fried, but he didn’t care. He just cared that Jesus took the time to make something for him.

When he was a kid, he’d always wanted to wake up to freshly made pancakes. He’d seen those commercials of happy families sitting around the kitchen table, the mom in an apron piling them on her kids' plates. His mom never did that, though; she typically slept past breakfast time when she was drinking, and when she wasn’t their meals were usually cereal or toast. After she’d passed, he’d given up hoping for that kind of thing altogether. Merle used to make pancakes sometimes for dinner when they were on their own, it being easy and all, and Daryl would occasionally steal a few. But he’d never had anything like this. Woken up to anything like this.

Blushing, Daryl shrugged. “Looks good to me.”

Jesus cocked his head and raised a brow. “Daryl, look at this one. It’s almost completely black.”

Daryl looked at Jesus for a moment before reaching over and taking the small burnt cake from the top of the stack with his fingers, bringing it to his lips, and pushing it into his mouth with one bite.

“Tastes d’licious,” he mumbled as he chewed.

The younger man laughed breathily. “You’re ridiculous.”

After a minute, Daryl swallowed. “Too bad we ain’t got syrup, would be perfect.”

Jesus shook his head, still chuckling. “Oh yeah, it’s just the syrup. Aside from that they’re a true work of culinary art.”

“Nah, I mean it,” Daryl rasped, looking over at Jesus. “I like ‘em. Thank you.”

The younger man’s mirthful expression fell into a soft, gentle smile. “You’re welcome.”

They sat there, eyes searching one another, before Jesus bit his lip and leaned over to the plate of pancakes. “Here, take more,” he said as he took his fork and plopped a few onto Daryl’s plate.

“Thanks.”

Jesus smiled before taking a few for himself.  He cut a piece with his fork and took a bite. "Not horrible, surprisingly," he said after he'd swallowed.

The younger man then pointed at the pink giraffe in the center of the table with his fork. "You like?"

Snorting, Daryl gave him a look. Jesus laughed in response.

"Anyway," Jesus started, cutting another piece with the side of his fork, "anything you want to do today?"

"I'unno," Daryl shrugged.

"We could test your spears?"

Daryl looked over at Jesus. "You wanna?"

"I want to do whatever you want to do," Jesus said as he reached over and placed his hands on top of Daryl's.

The archer breathed in deeply. "Okay."

"So spearing it is?"

Daryl smirked. "Yea."

Jesus smiled back and intertwined their fingers.

 

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, Daryl made his way home to pick up the spears. He'd left them on his front porch under the hanging, so they _should_ be fine. The rain had been very powerful last night, and it was possible the wind had blown some underneath and they'd gotten wet. He hoped that wasn't the  case.

As he walked home, however, he noticed someone was knocking on the front door. Carol. She noticed him approaching from across the lawn and turned around, waiting for him to arrive.

"There you are," she said once Daryl stepped up onto the porch.

The archer grunted. "What's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to check in. Haven't seen you in a bit."

Daryl nodded. "I'm good."

Carol raised a brow. "Good, huh?" she said, sitting down on the top step. "I think that's the first time I've heard you say that and I've actually believed it."

Blushing, Daryl froze. "What'd you mean?"

Carol looked up at him from her seat and gave him an unconvinced expression. "Oh come on. I came by at 8 and you weren't home. I come back an hour later and you're walking over from Jesus', hair damp like you've showered recently. Plus, you look more relaxed than you have in ages," she added with a smirk.

Daryl blanched. Shit, was it that obvious? He swallowed, heart thumping.

His friend quirked her brow again. "Am I wrong?"

The archer exhaled and rubbed his face with one hand. He hadn't even thought about how he and Jesus would act around the others. Hr didn't even know what they were, exactly. But if there was anyone he could trust to keep things private, it was Carol.

He moved down and sat next to the woman on the step. "No," he rasped.

Carol nodded, a smirk ghosting over her lips. “Last night?”

Daryl dropped his head to his hands. "Yea."

“What happened?”

"I'unno, stuff," he mumbled from beneath his hands.

Carol raised her eyebrows. “ _Good_ stuff, I’m assuming.”

The archer lifted his head from his hands and met her eyes. “Yea,” he blushed.

His friend looked away, smiling.

Daryl swallowed. He glanced down at his dirty boots against the white wood of his porch. There was so much running through his mind that he knew Carol could give him advise him on, but he had no idea what to say. Or how to bring it up.

“Listen,” Carol started, causing Daryl to flick his eyes back to meet hers. “I’m not sure what your relationships were like before I met you, but I’ve never seen you like this with anyone. He’s been good to you. You’re good together.”

Daryl felt his entire body flush, cheeks especially hot. “You sound like Maggie.”

Carol snorted. “Not surprised. She and Tara are obsessed with you two dating.”

 _Dating._ The term sent warm shivers throughout his body and his heart-rate picked up. Before he could fathom a response, however, he noticed motion from the corner of his eye. He turned his head to look across the lawn towards next door and saw Jesus hopping down the stairs of his porch.

The younger man had changed into his favorite leather jacket—it was much cooler today after the rain—and new pants and boots. His hair was down and neat around his shoulders. He looked beautiful.

He noticed Daryl and Carol sitting on the porch and smiled as he approached.

“Hey Carol, how are you?” he asked, leaning against the railing.

Carol smirked and glanced briefly at Daryl. “It’s been a good day, so far.”

Jesus looked between them, eyes knowing. “That’s great to hear.”

“Well,” Carol said, sitting up and stepping down the stairs. “I should be off. You two have a good one.”

She put her hand on Jesus’ shoulder before smiling again and walking off down the sidewalk.

Once she was out of ear’s reach, the smaller man looked over at Daryl, whose face was beat red. He smirked, eyes twinkling.

Before Jesus could say anything, Daryl stood up and turned around. He walked up the porch to the spears he’d left near the  outside wall. Thankfully, none of them seemed damaged from the rain. He bent down, picked up two, and then stepped back down the porch stairs to where Jesus stood.

“Ready?” he rasped, holding out one spear.

The younger man smiled and took the stick from Daryl. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

 

* * *

 

“Nah, you gotta throw ‘em like this.”

Daryl picked up his wooden spear and held it over his head, arm bent back and taught. He then lunged forward and let go, sending the object spiraling straight through the air and into the target: a large linen sheet they’d found on the forest floor that they tied off a tree branch.

They’d been in the woods for the past several hours. They hadn’t had luck with real game, so Daryl decided just to test the spears with a fake target. He didn’t want to soil his creations with walker guts, either.

Despite Jesus’ capability as a fighter, he couldn’t quite hit the mark while throwing the spear. Daryl had been surprised given that he'd been a quick learner when they’d gone hunting before.

(He had a sneaking suspicion Jesus was faking it just so he could keep watching Daryl’s arms as he threw the spear. He didn’t mind.)

“Yeah, that’s exactly how I did it,” Jesus shrugged.

“Nah, your arm was too low.”

“Maybe you should just do it for me?” the younger man offered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Daryl eyed him knowingly, but played along. He walked over to the shorter man and stood behind him. Moving in close, he placed his hand on the arm holding the spear. He gently raised it and positioned it at the correct angle.

“Like this,” Daryl said softly as he dropped his touch.  

Jesus exhaled before throwing the spear. It traveled through the air flawlessly and hit the target straight in the center, tearing through the cloth perfectly. The younger man turned around and smiled.

“Such a faker,” Daryl smirked.

“Maybe.” The shorter man walked towards Daryl so they were barely inches apart. “What are you going to do about it?”

Daryl felt his cheeks redden. “Not take you with me huntin’, that’s what,” he mumbled, smirk teasing at his lips.

Jesus laughed. “Don’t deny it, you love my company.”

Daryl’s cheeks felt hotter. His smirk faded as he processed Jesus’ statement and stared into his round eyes.

Jesus was right. He did.

The younger man noticed Daryl’s change in expression and his own face fell from playful to soft. The archer met his gaze for a few seconds before clearing his throat and looking down.

“You, uh, you wanna keep going? Or head back?” he said awkwardly.

“Do you think you’ve tested them enough?” Jesus asked, voice earnest.

Daryl looked up. He hoped his red cheeks had faded. “Yea, m’good.”

Jesus smiled softly. “Okay then, I’m good too. Let’s go home.”

After they collected their spears, they began walking through the forest path that led to Alexandria. They chatted quietly on their way back about neutral topics—hunting, the weather, walkers—until after one particularly long period of silence Jesus cleared his throat and started, “Can I ask you something?”

Daryl glanced at him. “Yea?”

“It’s completely okay if you don’t have an answer, but after last night…have you thought about…how you identify sexually?”

Daryl blanched.

“I—again, no need for an answer. It’s only been a few hours. I was just curious,” Jesus added, his own blush emerging.

“I’dunno,” Daryl mumbled, embarrassed.

Jesus nodded. “Okay.”

After a few shaky breaths, Daryl blurted, “You.”

The smaller man stopped walking, eyebrows raised and cheeks red.

Daryl ceased his motion as well. His face was burning and he closed his eyes. “Shit. I mean—you—you’re the only person I ever felt this way about, alright?”

The archer heard leaves crunch as Jesus approached, and soon felt the younger man’s soft hand in his own. “Daryl,” he said softly.

Daryl opened his eyes, but he kept them dropped to the forest floor. “I don’t really know what that means…you know, sexually or whatever.”

Jesus squeezed Daryl’s hand. “That’s okay. You don’t have to define it,” he whispered. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“And if you _do_ want to,” Jesus added, “I’ll always be here to help you figure it out. Just know that it doesn’t matter to me either way. What you are or aren’t.”

Daryl raised his eyes then and looked at Jesus. The smaller man was staring at him like he was last night, all tender and open.

“All that matters to me is that you want to be with me,” Jesus added with a nervous whisper.

The archer’s heart stopped for a second before beating so fast he thought it might burst from his chest. He couldn’t control the way his lips quivered when he replied, “I want that.”

Jesus dropped his spear and released his hand from Daryl’s so he could take both and pull the taller man down to him and press their lips together. Daryl fell into the kiss easily, dropping his own spear and shifting Jesus closer to him with his arm instead.

 

* * *

 

Forty minutes later, the two reached their block in Alexandria. Their journey back had been relatively quiet after their kiss, small-talk interspersed with shy smiles and soft looks.

They approached Daryl's house first and both stopped walking when they came to the porch steps. After a few beats of awkward silence, Daryl said, "You, um. You wanna come in?"

Jesus smiled. "Yeah."

They walked up and deposited their spears on the wooden planks of his porch. Daryl opened the door and let Jesus inside first. After the archer shut the door, Jesus leaned against the foyer wall. Even though it was only around mid-day, the shut blinds cast the younger man in shadow.

"So, what do you want to do now?” he asked, voice low.

Daryl felt his heart stammer in his chest and his cheeks redden.

Jesus pushed off the wall and inched forward until he was in the taller man’s space. He roved his eyes over his chest and back up to meet Daryl’s. “God, you’re so gorgeous,” he breathed before pressing his lips softly against Daryl's bare neck.

Daryl felt his body flush and his heart radiate with warmth at Jesus' words. No one had ever called him that.

The younger man worked his way down to the crook of his neck. He pulled back and whispered, "Love your shoulders," before pushing aside Daryl’s tank top and vest and kissing his collarbone down to his shoulder.

Daryl groaned softly as the pressure sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. Jesus hummed against his skin before pulling back and looking at Daryl.

“Am I going too fast?” he whispered, eyes dark and lips red.

The archer breathed in and out deeply once. “No,” he murmured.

“Okay, just tell me if I am,” he breathed before leaning up and catching Daryl’s lips with his own.

The taller man bent down to return the kiss, closing his eyes as their lips pressed together. It started languid and soft, and Jesus ran his hands from Daryl’s shoulders up to his neck to pull him closer. After a few minutes, Jesus brushed his tongue over Daryl’s lower lip, asking for entrance.

Daryl angled his head to the side and Jesus moaned, slipping his tongue into Daryl’s mouth. The archer felt his own moan catch in his throat at the feeling.

It only took a few slow kisses, tongues stroking hotly together, before Jesus groaned deep and low and dropped his hands from Daryl’s neck. The kiss turned more passionate as he increased the speed of his ministrations. He took Daryl’s hands—which were hanging awkwardly at his sides—and placed them on his hips.

Jesus broke the kiss briefly. “Touch me,” he breathed before slotting their lips back together.

Daryl inhaled through his nose and slowly drifted his fingertips to the soft sliver of skin between the shirt beneath Jesus’ jacket and his pants. It felt so soft, and he couldn’t help run his palms underneath the fabric and up his torso, rucking up the t-shirt.

The younger man pulled Daryl even closer, his hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his head. His tongue was so hot and soft and wet against Daryl’s own, and holy shit all the blood in his body was rushing down to his dick.

Jesus then pulled back from the kiss, out of breath. His pupils were blown wide, blue-green irises barely visible. He slid his hands back down again to rest on Daryl’s hips. Slowly, Jesus angled himself closer so that their bodies were nearly aligned. Daryl moved his hands with the younger man, gently pushing him along.

The younger man searched Daryl’s eyes before closing the gap between their hips.

Holy. Fuck.

Daryl’s eyes rolled back into head as he nearly blacked out at the feeling of Jesus’ erection pressed against his. The younger man rolled his hips gently, rubbing his dick with his own. Red hot waves of pleasure shot down his spine and Daryl moaned, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him.

“ _Fuck_ , Daryl,” Jesus whined before licking a stripe up Daryl’s exposed neck and marking and sucking the skin with kisses. The younger man continued undulating his hips, rubbing against him in little circles.

The archer hummed deep in his throat at the sound of Jesus saying his name like that, all breathy and hot. He pressed the hands that had gone limp at Jesus’ sides at the small of his back, pushing him closer and increasing the friction between them.

With the way Jesus was biting and sucking his neck, Daryl was sure he was going to have a line of bright red hickeys tomorrow. He didn’t really give a fuck, especially given the present situation. The smaller man pulled back after a few minutes and whispered, “Upstairs.”

Jesus then stepped back and grabbed Daryl’s hand into his own. He marched out of the foyer, Daryl in tow behind him, and lead them up the stairs to the second floor.

Once in Daryl’s shady bedroom, Jesus stripped out of his jacket and kicked off his boots, leaving them both on the hardwood floor. Daryl toed his boots off as well. After a few seconds, Jesus stepped into Daryl’s space and kissed him.

Daryl kissed back, heart thumping wildly. He placed his hands back at Jesus’ waist and rucked up his shirt again, feeling the soft skin with his fingertips.

“You want this off too?” Jesus asked, breaking the kiss.

The archer nodded. Jesus reached to his own sides and pulled the t-shirt from his body, leaving his torso exposed. He then reached his hands to the edge of Daryl’s vest and shirt. “Can I?” he whispered.

Daryl’s heart was racing wildly. He hated people seeing him without his shirt. Last night he definitely was too afraid to let Jesus see that part of him. But it was dark in his room, and a lot had happened since then. After taking a deep breath, he nodded as well.

Jesus smiled softly and kissed him again, pushing off his vest first. Once it hit the floor, the younger man pulled the tank up from his torso and over Daryl’s head, ruffling his dark hair.

“Come here,” he breathed, dropping the garment and pulling the taller man towards him. Their bare chests pressed together and their tongues intertwined, licking and sucking, and Daryl felt like his body might melt.

Suddenly, Jesus pulled back and gently pushed Daryl to the bed. Once the back of his knees hit the mattress, Daryl took a breath. Jesus began kissing his neck, then his chest, then his sternum and torso, then…

Shit.

Jesus had bent down on both knees and was now looking up at Daryl from the floor, blown eyes hooded and round. Daryl’s heart nearly stopped when the younger man leaned up and began unbuttoning his jeans, pulling them down his thighs. He placed both hands on Daryl’s hips over his boxers, and leaned forward to press a soft kiss at the hem of the fabric near his right hip.

Daryl felt his cock twitch.

This couldn’t be real.

“This okay?” Jesus exhaled.

Daryl closed his eyes and nodded quickly.

That was all Jesus needed, apparently, because then he was pushing down Daryl’s boxers and licking a hot stripe up his dick from base to tip.

“Oh fuck— _Paul_ ,” he moaned, closing his eyes and dropping his head back.

Jesus repeated the motion before lapping at the pre-come at Daryl’s tip and taking him into his mouth.

Daryl let out a deep whine and moved his hands to Jesus’ head as the man bobbed up and down his dick. He sifted his fingers through Jesus' long hair before opening his eyes and taking in the sight of Jesus’ mouth wrapped around him and sliding on his length.

Fuck.

Jesus began using his tongue, pressing and swirling as he moved. Daryl could feel his orgasm bubbling after a few minutes, so he tugged Jesus’ hair gently and breathed, “Paul, I’m gonna—”

The younger man popped off and kept the motion going with his hand. “Yea?” he breathed, voice hot against Daryl’s cock, “Come for me.”

At his words, Daryl felt a jolt of white-hot pleasure shoot down his spine and was cumming on Jesus’ lips. The younger man whined and closed his eyes, taking the head of Daryl’s pulsing cock onto his tongue, encircling the length with his lips, and finishing him off with his mouth.

Daryl thought last night was the greatest thing he’d ever felt, but it was fucking nothing compared to his.

Once he was done, Daryl’s entire body felt like it was jelly. He couldn’t move, and everything felt tingly and warm. Blissful.

He must have blacked out for a moment, because when he opened his eyes Jesus was kissing his cheek, arms softly wrapped around his neck.

“That was so fucking hot,” he breathed, voice shaky.

That’s when Daryl remembered what had happened last night—Daryl finishing and falling asleep without even offering to return the favor. He didn’t want that to happen again, even as nervous as he was to take the next step.

Daryl leaned back and brought his hands to Jesus’ hips. “Want you to, too,” he mumbled, not exactly in the right state of mind to form coherent sentences.

The younger man searched Daryl’s eyes. He shook his head slightly. “It’s okay, this is for you.”

“S’for you too,” Daryl whispered. “Just show me how.”

Jesus looked at him, eyes soft, before pressing his lips softly against Daryl’s. He then began unbuttoning his pants and pushed them to the floor, underwear along with them.

Daryl couldn’t help but stare at the naked man in front of him, and it was almost enough to get him hard again.

Jesus slipped onto the bed and laid down, head resting on the pillow. Daryl turned instinctually to face him so that his scars weren’t in his view. Jesus reached out and pulled him closer, taking one hand into his own. He guided Daryl’s palm to his cock which laid heavy and leaking against his stomach.

“Just, put your hand around it like you would to yourself— _fuck yeah_ , just like that,” Jesus moaned breathily, positioning Daryl’s hand on him.

Daryl breathed deeply and encircled his hand around Jesus’ length. As he began moving it up and down, Jesus dropped his own hand to the bed and moaned loudly.

“Don’t stop, please, I’m close” he whined.

The archer groaned and moved down so that he hovered above Jesus, propping himself up on one elbow. He bit his lip as he increased his speed, hand pumping the soft skin. The younger man squeezed his eyes shut as he latched one hand to Daryl’s bare shoulder.

“Daryl, Daryl, _right there_ , Daryl,” Jesus breathed, reciting the archer's name like a prayer. His bare hips arched from the bed and Daryl could feel his legs twitching beneath him.

Daryl dropped his head to Jesus’ collarbone briefly and placed a soft kiss on the skin. The younger man’s hips arched higher and he let out a low groan.

“Fuck, oh— _Daryl_ ,” he moaned as he came, shooting over his stomach and onto Daryl’s hand.

Once Jesus finished, Daryl wiped himself on the sheets before lying down fully next to the smaller man and pulling the covers over them both.

They kissed each other lazily until they both fell asleep, tangled in each others’ arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment below if you enjoyed the chapter, it keeps me motivated (and happy). :D 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Jesus get closer. The pair and Rick find trouble on a run.

Daryl woke wrapped around Jesus, his chest pressed softly against the smaller man's back. He breathed in before looking down, watching Jesus’ smooth skin rise and fall with each breath as he slept. Daryl’s heart swelled with emotion at the sight.

Slowly, the archer raised his arm draped over Jesus' waist and moved his fingers to the man's wing bone. Daryl caressed the spot where he'd noticed the beauty mark last night, his touch light and fleeting, and tried to control the unsteady thumping in his own chest.

Daryl breathed in softly, closing his eyes. This was real. This was happening to him.

Jesus groaned a few moments later, startling the older man. Daryl opened his eyes as Jesus shifted and turned onto his side, rolling over so that he was facing him. The smaller man blinked, eyes sleepy and gentle, and leaned in to place a brief kiss on Daryl's chest. Jesus then pulled back and smiled softly.

Daryl swallowed, heart picking up speed. “Hey,” he whispered, voice low and gravelly as his fingers now drifted idly on the smaller man’s shoulder.

Jesus’ soft smile grew into a grin, cheeks pink. “Hi.”

Their eyes locked, gently searching each other. After a few beats, Jesus placed his hand on Daryl’s waist and shifted upwards so he could place a small kiss against his lips. Daryl’s heart skipped a beat at the contact, and even though they’d done far more intimate things just a few hours ago, his face turned red.

When Jesus leaned back, he looked into Daryl’s eyes again and asked, “How are you feeling?”

Daryl couldn’t help but quirk his lips into a small smile. “Pretty good.”

The younger man raised a brow, amused. “Only _pretty_ good?”

“Nah,” Daryl corrected, cheeks red. “Real good.”

Jesus smiled even wider, eyes crinkly around the corners. He leaned up again and kissed Daryl. The archer pressed his lips back, matching the younger man’s gentle tempo. When they finished, Jesus placed a light kiss against his collarbone and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “What time s’it?” he mumbled before kissing Daryl’s skin again.

The room was nearly pitch black, signaling to the archer that it was either late evening or the middle of the night. They couldn’t have fallen asleep any later than 2 pm, and he didn’t think they were asleep for that long, so it probably wasn't the latter.

“I’unno, maybe nine?” he replied, continuing his soft caress over Jesus’ shoulder. Daryl could feel the man’s skin prickle with goosebumps as he moved his fingers down his arm.

“You cold?” Daryl asked.

Jesus responded by pressing another kiss against his collar bone. “No, just feels nice.”

Something in Daryl’s chest ached at the admission. He hummed, heart beating faster, and kept stroking the younger man's skin.

After a few minutes, Jesus slowly lifted his head and scooted back so there was a bit of space between them. Daryl dropped his hand from Jesus' arm so it lay between them.

"Daryl?" Jesus asked, voice soft.

"Yea?"

He gave a shy smile. “I just—let me know if you feel anything is too much.”

Daryl blinked in response, confused.

“If I’m ever going too fast, or if you’re uncomfortable,” Jesus elaborated, “you can tell me. If you don’t like something, I’ll stop.”

The archer felt his face heat up and looked down to his hand on the comforter between them. It had only been one day, and they’d already moved faster than Daryl ever had with another person. Then again, he'd never had these feelings for anyone else either. All of this terrified him, but if he had the chance he’d do everything again in a heartbeat. He took a breath before glancing up and meeting the smaller man’s round eyes.

Sensing Daryl’s awkwardness, Jesus cleared his throat and continued, the pink of his cheeks deepening. “Was there anything from tonight you didn’t like? It’s completely fine if you didn’t. And I don’t just mean what I did to you…if you weren’t really into touching me—”

“I liked it,” Daryl interrupted. “Liked all of it.”

Jesus’ eyes widened before he covered the emotion with a cheeky smirk. Daryl rolled his eyes at the expression, but couldn’t help his face from blushing even further.

The younger man smiled softly then, moving in closer so that his own hand was placed on top of Daryl’s. He intertwined their fingers before whispering, “I’m glad.”

“Did you like it?" Daryl murmured.

Jesus turned pinker, lips quirking. “It was amazing.”

Daryl snorted. “Yea, _okay._ ”

“I mean it.”

“Not like I knew what I was doin’ or nothin,” Daryl rasped with an awkward shrug.

“I told you, that doesn’t matter to me. It was you doing it. That’s why it was amazing.”

Daryl blushed, his heart beating faster. “Guess you _were_ pretty loud,” he mumbled, trying to deflect the attention off himself.

Jesus raised his brows and opened his mouth in mock scandal, but Daryl didn’t miss how his cheeks colored again. “I was not.”

“Mhm, was like ‘ _oh Daryl, Daryl_ —“

The younger man pushed Daryl’s arm playfully, lips breaking into a mirthful grin. “Shut up.”

Daryl couldn’t help but return the grin. Jesus’ expression changed then, wide beam falling to a soft smile. He moved even closer, eyes locked on Daryl’s.

“Love when you smile,” Jesus murmured before leaning up and placing a kiss on his lips.

When he pulled back, Daryl’s heart was thumping in his ears.

The smaller man gave another small smile before interlocking their fingers again. “I mean it though, about going too fast,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to rush things between us. It’s just, in this world nothing is ever certain and I don’t want to waste any more time not being with you.”

Jesus paused, cheeks suddenly turning redder than Daryl had ever seen coming from the man.

“When I say being with you, I don’t just mean the physical things that've been happening. Not that I haven’t enjoyed them—I really fucking have—but it’s not about that at all for me. I don’t want you to think I’m only trying to have sex with you,” Jesus rambled.

Daryl’s heart was thumping wildly in his chest. He blinked his widened eyes, unsure of what to say or do.

Jesus sighed, cheeks still red. “What I’m trying to say is, I want to be with you regardless of what happens between us physically.”

The archer stared at the younger man, eyes searching Jesus’ and his heart never slowing. “Me too,” he managed, voice barely a whisper.

The younger man took a breath at Daryl’s response before leaning up and kissing him again.

They kissed each other lazily, lips soft and pliant against each other. After a few minutes, Jesus broke off for air. He smirked softly and breathed, “Just for the record, it's not that I _don't_ want to have sex with you either. I do, whenever you’re ready. If that’s something you’d ever be interested in.”

Daryl swallowed as he felt heat rush downwards at Jesus’ words. He knew his face was red, but it was less embarrassing this time given that the smaller man’s own cheeks were a similar shade. “I, uh, I don’t know—”

“Okay, that’s totally okay—”

“Nah, I meant…I don’t know how to…um, how that would work?” Fuck, it’d been a while since he’d asked a stupid ass question, but here he goes again.

Jesus pursed his lips, stifling a smile. “Um,” he started, “Well, I uh, I’m pretty versatile. I prefer to top actually, but for us I think it'd be better if you did at first. Then we could try other things, see what you like."

Daryl wasn't exactly up to speed on gay sex terminology, but he could figure out enough to know what Jesus was getting at. His entire body blazed with embarrassment, but at the same time his cock was already hard just from thinking about being with Jesus in that way.

Jesus seemed to catch onto Daryl's arousal from his facial expression, given that his waist was completely obscured underneath the covers. "Would you like that?" he whispered, moving in closer to press his lips against the sensitive spot on Daryl's neck.

The archer gave a low, breathy moan in response.

"We can take it slow. Don't have to do everything today," Jesus breathed after pulling back from his neck.

Daryl exhaled, giving a brief nod.

Jesus then pulled the comforter over his shoulders so that his hands were underneath the covers. This close to Daryl, it was easy for Jesus to move one hand down to older man's groin and wrap it around his hard length.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut and moaned.

"That feel good, baby?" Jesus whispered.

Daryl grunted in response, involuntarily jerking his hips to create friction with the younger man's soft hand.

"Fuck," Jesus moaned, answering Daryl's action by beginning to pump his hand.

After a few moments of breathy moans and whimpers between them, Jesus switched his hands, using the arm he'd been lying on to continue his steady motions. He took his left and inserted his index finger into his mouth, sucking.

Daryl's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

Jesus slid the finger, now slick with saliva, from his mouth. "Wanna show you something," he breathed.

He stilled his hand on Daryl's dick and pulled it away, using it instead to push the blankets completely over both their heads. Things were darker cocooned beneath the comforter, but it wasn't long before Daryl's eyes adjusted to witness Jesus' naked form before him. Brown hair lead down from his belly button to curls around the base of his cock, which his was hard and leaking against his stomach.

Jesus shifted onto his back and slid his feet up so that his knees were spread and bent. He took a deep breath before snaking the hand that had been in his mouth down between his legs. Daryl felt himself get harder, if that was even possible, as his heart pounded in his chest.

"It's been a while, so just gonna start with one," Jesus whispered before slowly pushing the finger into himself.

Daryl's breath caught in his throat.

Holy fuck.

Jesus closed his eyes, pumping his finger in and out. "Daryl," he moaned.

The archer leaned forward and began pressing soft kisses against Jesus' neck. He was so fucking turned on, and he had no idea that _this_ was what the younger man wanted to show him.

"You can touch me if you want," Jesus breathed, increasing his speed.

That was all the motivation Daryl needed to reach his hand down and begin stroking Jesus' dick. The younger man pressed his eyes shut and swore before giving a soft moan.

"Keep going, _ugh_ , so good," Jesus groaned.

After a few minutes, Jesus removed his finger and stalled Daryl's hand.

"Want more," he breathed before leaning up and capturing Daryl's mouth with a brief kiss. "Want you to do it. You want to?"

Daryl blushed, heart racing. "D'unno how."

"C'mere, give me those," Jesus murmured, taking Daryl's hand into his own. He pressed down the older man's fingers until only his index and middle were extended. The younger man lifted his head and licked a stripe before pushing them into his wet mouth and sucking.

Daryl grunted, deep and low in his throat.

Jesus slid Daryl's fingers from his lips with a small pop. Slowly, he guided Daryl's hand down his body and between his cheeks, brushing the fingers over his hole.

The younger man arched his head back at the touch and moaned, eyes shut. After a deep breath, Jesus opened his eyes again and looked up at Daryl. He put pressure on the archer's hand, pressing the wet fingers gently against his hole.

"Want them inside me," Jesus murmured.

Daryl's heart was beating fast. He had no idea how to do this. What if he fucked up? What if it was bad? His fingers weren't as small as Jesus'—what if he hurt him?

As usual, Jesus intuited Daryl's thoughts. "You won't hurt me, I promise," he whispered, eyes open and honest.

"You'll tell me if it does?"

"Yes. And if you don't like it, you can stop."

Daryl took a breath and nodded. Jesus leaned up and kissed him before putting more pressure on the larger man's fingers so that they began pressing into his hole.

"Just like that, _yeah_ , slide them inside me," he murmured.

Daryl was propped up on one elbow above Jesus, looking down at his fingers slowly disappearing into the younger man's hole. It felt softer than he expected it to. It was a bit strange at first—the concept of putting his hands inside another man's ass—but as soon as he glanced up and saw the blissful expression on Jesus' face, his thoughts changed. Eyes pressed closed and full lips parted, Jesus looked beautiful, and Daryl's chest swelled with affection. And the fact that his fingers _inside him_ were making Jesus feel this good caused his cock to pulse with pleasure. He felt like he might come right there, even without being touched.

The archer closed his own eyes and moaned, thoughts racing with all these feelings. When his fingers finally were all the way in, Jesus dropped his own hand to his side and Daryl exhaled a shaky breath.

" _Fuck_ ," Daryl breathed, opening his eyes to look back at the man below him.

Jesus' eyes were still shut. "Yeah, babe, now move them in and out."

Daryl pulled back his wet fingers, feeling the velvety skin slide against him. He couldn't help but grunt in pleasure. Jesus returned the sentiment with a small moan.

Once he arrived at Jesus' entrance he pushed back in, his digits sliding in easier than before. He repeated the motions several times, which had the smaller man writhing beneath him.

" _Daryl_ ," Jesus moaned.

Daryl groaned in response, plunging his fingers faster into the younger man.

"Shit, _yeah_. You can— _fuck_ —scissor them. Like this," the man breathed, lifting his left hand to mime the motion with his own fingers.

The archer watched Jesus' hand and bit his lip, concentrating on mimicking the pattern inside. Based on Jesus' little whimpers and moans, he thought he was doing a pretty good job.

Daryl shifted then, moving his propped elbow upwards to get more comfortable. The motion caused him to press his fingers into Jesus at a different angle, and the younger man gave a loud moan, hips suddenly jerking upwards.

The archer stopped his hand immediately, heart thumping with nervousness. "Did I hurt you?"

Jesus opened his eyes and looked at Daryl. "No, no," he murmured sweetly, "That felt so good. Do that again."

"Don't know what I did," Daryl mumbled, cheeks red.

The younger man gave a lazy smirk before leaning up and kissing Daryl. "Prostate. Feels fucking amazing. One day I'll show you."

Daryl still wasn't exactly sure what Jesus meant, but he understood enough that his entire body flushed and his cock leaked. He was so damn hard.

"Here," Jesus continued, bringing back his hand over Daryl's. "Keep it at this angle. Except bend your fingers up a bit."

Biting his lip, Daryl followed Jesus' instructions. The form felt a bit awkward on his hand, but if that made Jesus feel good then he'd do it all fucking day long.

"Just keep moving your fingers inside me, like this," Jesus added breathily, motioning with his own fingers again. "Don't have to pull out."

Daryl nodded and continued his ministrations, moving his fingers repeatedly inside Jesus to hit that same spot over and over. The younger man moaned loudly at the action.

The archer took in a shaky breath as he watched Jesus whimper and moan in pleasure each time he touched the spot inside him. Daryl couldn't help but increase his speed, eager to push Jesus even further into pleasure.

"Oh fuck, don't stop," Jesus breathed, eyes squeezed tight as he arched his head back.

Daryl kept his fingers pumping and leaned down to kiss Jesus' forehead. The younger man opened his eyes and looked at Daryl, expression open and blissful. He glanced down at the archers lips before crashing up and capturing them with his own.

Tongues intertwined as Daryl stroked and pumped inside Jesus' hole. At one particular movement the younger man broke his mouth away to give a loud moan. The noise made Daryl smirk.

" _Loud_ ," he breathed into Jesus' ear.

The younger man smiled. "Shut up," he laughed breathily. "Put another finger inside me."

Daryl closed his eyes and moaned softly at the thought of putting another digit inside Jesus. He obeyed, pulling out his two fingers. He was about to push three in when he remembered what Jesus did before—putting them inside his lips—so Daryl quickly wet his index, middle, and ring finger with one slide of his own mouth. They had a distinct taste that under other circumstances would have freaked Daryl out, but right now it only made his cock leak harder.

"Fuck, Daryl," Jesus swore under his breath as he watched Daryl pull his fingers out of his mouth.

Daryl looked at him, eyes blown. "Yea?" he breathed.

"Get inside me," the younger man moaned.

The archer groaned before moving his hand back to Jesus' ass and slowly pushing his fingers inside. The smaller man inhaled sharply at the feeling.

"Does it hurt?" Daryl murmured.

"No, keep moving, it's okay," Jesus breathed in response.

Daryl continued pushing until he fit all three completely inside. Remembering Jesus' instructions before, he angled them up and bent them slightly to reach that one spot. He pulled out a bit and slid back in, hitting the skin again.

 _"Daryl,"_ Jesus moaned.

The sound of Jesus saying his name like that sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. His cock hung hard between them and he wanted to put pressure on it so badly, but both his hands were occupied. He concentrated instead on his fingers inside Jesus and the way the smaller man's face scrunched up in pleasure every time he hit that special spot. He slowly began increasing his speed, causing louder whimpers and moans to fall from Jesus' lips.

Suddenly, Jesus wrapped his hand around his own dick and began and pumping rapidly. "Fuck, I'm close, go faster," he breathed heavily.

Daryl groaned and pumped, his strong arm increasing in speed.

" _Fuck_ Daryl, _oh fuck_ , gonna come," he whimpered as his entire body trembled, stroking his dick in tandem with Daryl's fingers inside him.

The younger man arched himself. "Oh I'm coming, I'm coming, _ugh_ ," he groaned as his cock finally pulsed and shot up onto his bare stomach.

It lasted longer and there was much more come than earlier, which made Daryl groan low and raspy in his throat.

When the younger man finally came down, he closed his eyes and dropped his hand to the side. Daryl slowly pulled out his fingers and unpropped his other arm so that he was lying down next to Jesus on the bed.

After a few moments of shaky breaths, the younger man turned on his side toward Daryl and leaned in to kiss him. He pulled away and pressed another kiss on his cheek.

"Did you like that?"

Daryl looked at him, heart racing. "Yea."

The younger man gave a lazy smirk. "Yeah?" he murmured, snaking his left hand down between them. He wrapped it around Daryl's leaking cock, which made the archer close his eyes and moan deeply.

Jesus leaned in closer to Daryl as he began pumping his hand faster. "Glad you liked it. Because one day I want this inside me too," he whispered into his ear.

That was all it took for Daryl to come undone, moaning loudly as he released himself over Jesus' hands. His orgasm was so hard it rocked through his body in waves, each time more come pulsing from his dick.

When he finished, Jesus removed his hand and wiped it on the sheets beneath them. He leaned up and began peppering the archer's face with small kisses—his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, and finally his lips.

"You're incredible," Jesus whispered once he pulled back, eyes round and searching.

Daryl looked down, blushing. After a moment, he leaned over and pulled the smaller man closer with one arm. Jesus dropped his head to Daryl's chest and kissed the skin.

They lay there together until they fell back asleep, letting the dark night wash over them.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Daryl awoke to find himself naked on top of his bed, cool air sending chills over his exposed skin. Groaning, he looked to his side. Jesus had stolen all the covers over the night and was now rolled up in the comforter like a damn sausage. Daryl couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

The younger man must be out cold, Daryl thought, because the sound did nothing to stir him. Daryl contemplated waking Jesus up, but he looked so peaceful and soft and he didn’t want to disturb him.

Swallowing, Daryl also remembered something he’d been trying to avoid in the back of his mind. His scars.

If he waited too long, he’d eventually have to get up and Jesus would likely see them. Which meant talking about it. Opening up about it. He knew the younger man would be kind, of course, but Daryl was still nervous to show him exactly how bad his father’s abuse had been.

The archer decided that he’d leave while Jesus was still asleep, as to avoid the situation as a whole. Sliding softly from the bed, Daryl got up and padded toward his bathroom.

After showering and changing into new clothes, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He wanted to make Jesus something to eat—like the younger man had for him yesterday—but he didn’t have any ingredients to make pancakes or anything nice like that. He opened up his pantry to find several empty shelves, some cereal, and a jar of half-eaten peanuts.

Fuck, he needed more food.

Sighing, he grabbed one of the newer boxes of cereal (Lucky Charms, at least it was the good shit and not that nasty heathy kashi crunch or whatever that Carol had made him eat the other week) and moved to the cabinets to take down two bowls. Daryl walked to the kitchen table and pushed away the books and hunting gear he’d left on top and made space for the bowls and cereal.

He didn’t have milk, so they’d just have to make do with plain cereal. The archer chewed on his lip as he looked at the meager display before him. Jesus had set everything up so pretty and nice yesterday and cooked him damn _pancakes_ for god sake. He didn’t want the younger man to think he didn’t care at all. He needed _something_ to spruce things up.

That’s when he remembered: Carol had planted flowers out front last week. Pansies or petunias or some shit, he didn't know. She’d just shown up with a crate full of flowers she’d grown in her own garden and began decorating the outside of his porch with them. Daryl had tried to stop her, but he’d always been bad at refusing the woman.

The archer walked outside to see that the flowers were still alive and well. He hopped down the porch stairs and bent down, ripping a clump of purple and pink ones from the soil.

“Hey Daryl, you busy?”

Daryl whipped himself up, startled by the voice behind him. He turned to see Rick approaching, a bag of supplies hung over his shoulder.

“Er..uhh,” he managed, cheeks red and hand awkwardly holding the handful of flowers that were ripped at the ends.

“I’m heading out on a run in a bit,” his friend began. “Big grocery store up the highway. Glenn and I were going to check it out, see how much we could find, but now he’s staying home to help Maggie out. You interested?

The archer looked up at Rick. He was interested, actually—he had no food in his pantry and he was beginning to get sick of the same Hilltop crops. Maybe he could actually find something worthwhile for Paul to eat. But Daryl didn’t want to leave him alone either…he could ask him to come, but he didn’t want to make him go out if he was too tired.

Rick had glanced down as the archer contemplated silently, and noticed the flowers in his hand. He raised an amused brow at the sight. “Not a fan of Carol’s planting?” he smirked.

Daryl’s cheeks flamed and he flicked his eyes toward the ground and grunted. “I—”

Suddenly, the door swung open, catching the attention of both men. Jesus padded out the door, eyes squinting in the bright sun. He was wearing his pants from last night, but nothing else.

“There you are. Oh hey, Rick,” the younger man smiled.

Daryl’s body turned beet red.

“Hey,” Rick responded, a bit confused as he looked between Jesus and Daryl. His friend then glanced down at the flowers in Daryl’s hand, up at the archer’s awkward blushing, and then over at the bare-chested man on the porch. Amusement washed over Rick’s face as he put two and two together.

“Never mind,” he said, eyeing the two as he stifled a smile. “Sorry for interrupting.” He gave Daryl a congratulatory pat on the shoulder before starting to turn around.

“Wait,” Jesus called, stepping down the stairs. “Were you inviting us on a run?”

Rick raised his brows, turning to face Jesus. “Well, yeah, if you guys wanted.”

“Where to?” the younger man responded, moving to stand beside Daryl. The motion caused his arm to brush against the archer’s own.

“Grocery store, fifty or so minutes up the highway. We have intel that it may be untouched. Could be overrun though, so no idea what to expect.”

Jesus looked up at Daryl. “You want to?”

Daryl swallowed, looking between Jesus and Rick. “Uh, yeah, sure. Only if you want,” he added, glancing down at the shorter man.

Rick grinned as he watched them.

“I think everyone could use some more food, we’ve been low for days,” Jesus answered to Daryl.

“Great. I’ll come back in thirty minutes and we can leave from there—is that enough time?” Rick asked.

Jesus looked over at Rick. “Sounds good to me.”

Their friend smirked again. “Alright, see ya then,” he said to them both before turning around and heading down the sidewalk.

After he was gone, Jesus looked at Daryl and bit his lip, trying not to smile.

Daryl blushed again. “What,” he grumbled, trying not to smirk himself.

“I think he knows.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes playfully at the shorter man. “Oh really, I wonder how,” he said sarcastically.

Jesus smiled. “And Carol too?”

The archer thought back to yesterday, with Carol on his porch and Jesus walking over. “Yea, she knows,” he mumbled.

The younger man widened his smirk. “Won’t be long then, huh?”

“Long ‘till what?”

Jesus was about to answer when he furrowed his brows, finally noticing the flowers in Daryl’s hand. “What’s this?”

Daryl didn’t think his face could turn any redder, but he was wrong.

“I uh…only got cereal, and I wanted things t’look nice or whatever, so I…never mind,” he rambled.

Without warning, Jesus leaned up and kissed him.

The older man froze, taken back by the action. They hadn't kissed outside in Alexandria yet, for anyone to walk by and see. As Paul’s lips pressed softly onto his own, he felt a warm wave of emotion wash over him. Even though he was nervous, Daryl kissed him back, the feeling tingling from his heart throughout his body.

 

* * *

 

“Anything in this one?”

Daryl shined his flashlight down the aisle. He saw bags of what looked liked chips and pretzels, and boxes of other snacks further down.

“Snack aisle, looks like,” he rasped in response. “Most of it’s probably still good.”

Rick nodded at him. “Alright, I’ll fill this cart then. You meet up with Jesus and see how he’s doing.”

Getting inside the large supermarket had proven to be surprisingly easy. They’d banged on the glass entrance for over 15 minutes, gathering as many walkers to the front as possible. Only a handful appeared, which signaled to Daryl that survivors had cleared the place out before. Strangely enough, however, the place was virtually untouched on the inside.

The threesome had been going up and down the aisles together, stocking cart after cart with as many goods as possible. They’d brought the RV, so they had plenty of room for all their items. After an hour of the process, Jesus suggested they split up—one person packing the vehicle as the others filled the remaining shopping carts. The younger man offered to begin moving their items into the RV, and Rick nodded in agreement.

The idea sounded horrible to Daryl; he wanted to stay by Paul’s side, make sure nothing happened to him, but Jesus had squeezed Daryl’s hand before heading to take a few carts outside.

The entire time he’d been with Rick he’d been distracted by the fact that Paul was alone. He contemplated why he was so antsy: he knew from experience how capable Jesus was, so it wasn’t like he was afraid the man couldn’t handle the task. He just…he…Paul was so much to him…he wanted to make sure he was alright.

At Rick’s words, Daryl’s heart filled with relief. He met his friend's eyes and nodded before turning and walking toward the front of the store.

Suddenly, Daryl heard a yell coming from outside. Immediately he whipped out his gun and ran to the door, mind on overdrive. When he swung open the door he came face to face with Jesus, who had been on his way inside. His eyes were wild and he was sweating beneath the wool cap on his head.

“Paul? What’s wrong?” Daryl asked, unable to control how concerned his voice sounded.

“Walkers. Came out of nowhere,” the younger man breathed.

Daryl froze. He was about to call for his friend when Rick wheeled out from the aisle, cart in tow.

“How many?” he asked, leaving the cart to pull out his gun.

Jesus turned around. “Sixty, seventy maybe.”

Rick bypassed them both to peek out the door. “Shit.”

“Ain’t right,” Daryl rasped gruffly. “I knew somethin’ was up when only twenty walkers came outta this joint. Should’ve known they’d be wandering somewhere.”

Rick looked back at him, mouth pressed shut. He tightened his grip on his gun.

Jesus stepped forward. “I was trying to be quiet, packing the RV. Maybe I was too loud—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rick responded. “This isn’t anyone’s fault. We can take them. Once they’re dead, we’ll get the hell out of here.”

Daryl stared at Rick and then glanced at the smaller man beside him. Jesus lifted his bandana to cover his face and met Daryl’s eyes, giving a small nod. He pulled out his gun and a knife.

“Alright, you ready?” Rick whispered.

Jesus cocked a brow. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Rick pushed open the door then, and signaled for his companions to follow.

Once outside, the three men began stabbing as many walkers as they could, starting with the ones approaching the RV first. It didn’t take long for the trio to kill about thirty walkers with their blades alone.

Daryl made sure to stay close to Jesus, watching his back. They younger man slashed and kicked, toppling over a good amount with one move and bending down to stab their heads. Daryl glanced over to Rick who was keeping up as well, killing walker after walker as blood splattered over his light shirt.

Just when the archer thought they’d reached the last few, another slew of walkers appeared. Jesus gave a muffled curse under his bandana. The three men suddenly found themselves cornered against the RV, more and more undead piling toward them.

Rick pulled out his gun then and began shooting them. Daryl stabbed a few before doing the same, unable to handle the volume with just his knife.

“We should go inside, get the fuck outta here!” Daryl yelled at Rick, who was down toward the end of the RV, and motioned to the vehicle’s door behind him.

His friend gave another shot and nodded before treading up toward Daryl. The archer moved to grab Jesus as well, but when he turned the younger man wasn’t there.

Heart thumping wildly and mind racing, Daryl extended his arm and began shooting walkers left and right, searching for the smaller man in the crowd. He spotted him over the hood of the vehicle, stabbing several fallen walkers on the other side of the RV.

“Paul, let’s go!” Daryl yelled across the way, voice cracking.

The man stood up, started by his name. Their eyes met and he began stabbing more walkers, clearing a path around the RV to meet Daryl.

Daryl glanced back at Rick, who was climbing into the vehicle. “I’ll start it up—you get him in here and we’ll leave,” he called over the sound of the groaning dead.

The archer turned back to Jesus, who was now nearing Daryl. The smaller man killed a few walkers with expert skill, stabbing and shooting them point blank. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a group of walkers that were grabbing and clawing fell on top of each other, knocking into Jesus from behind. The action caused the smaller man to trip and fall onto the concrete.

Daryl’s heart stopped. As if on autopilot, he began swinging his knife into walker after walker with one hand and shooting his gun with the other, making his way toward the man on the ground a few feet before him. After the few initial seconds of shock, Jesus had flipped onto his back and began shooting at the walkers above him, avoiding their clamping teeth. Daryl heard shots coming from behind him as well—Rick must be shooting from afar.

When he finally reached the younger man, Daryl began stabbing every walker around him violently, dark blood splashing over his body. Once he’d cleared enough, he picked Jesus up and pulled one arm over his shoulder, carrying him quickly to the RV door. He dragged them both up the small stairs and slammed the door shut before pulling them both onto the landing beside the driver’s seat. Daryl felt the the RV jerk and heard wheels screech as Rick put the vehicle into drive, speeding away through an opening in the herd of walkers.

The archer frantically looked down the man beneath him, whose face was scrunched up in pain.

“ _No_ , no no no,” Daryl repeated, eyes wild as he ran his hands over Paul’s body, searching for bite marks. He soon felt wetness trickle down his own face, and while at first he assumed it was the blood, he soon realized he was crying. Eyesight soon obscured by tears, Daryl hung his head, letting sobs rack through his body.

He felt hands on his face and a soft voice calling to him. It took a few moments for him to look up and realize it was Paul, eyes open and watery beneath him.

“I’m okay,” he murmured, lips trembling. “They didn’t get me. Just scraped my leg on the ground.”

Daryl parted his mouth in surprise, unable to stop the tears from leaking. He’d just assumed the worst…the worst always happened to the people he loved…

“You ain’t bit? Scratched?” he asked, breathing deeply to calm himself down.

“No, Daryl, no,” Jesus murmured, a tear falling from his eye as he pushed back Daryl’s hair over his forehead sweetly.

The archer had never seen Paul cry before, and the sight sent a pang of emotion through his chest.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” Rick began, foot heavy on the pedal as they sped away. “But there’s a first aid kit in the cabinets, for his leg.”

Daryl looked at his friend at the wheel, who met his eyes briefly with understanding and concern. Daryl sat up and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Lemme get ya to the bed,” he breathed, pulling Jesus into his arms and picking him up, bridal style.

The younger man smiled wetly. “I can walk, it’s not that bad. Just stings.”

“Too bad, carrying you.”

Once Daryl reached the RV bed, he placed Jesus on top of the white comforter. “Be right back,” he rasped before getting the kit from the cabinet.

He pulled out an antiseptic wipe, ointment, and a few bandaids. When he walked back to Jesus, the man had removed his jacket, hat, and bandana, and deposited them on the floor beside him. His pants were torn below his knee to display the skinned part of his leg. Gravel was stuck inside the wound and the younger man bent to observe it, wincing.

“Here,” Daryl whispered, sitting down on the bed. He ripped open the wipe with his teeth and pulled out the wet towelette. Slowly, Daryl began to clean the scrape and Jesus inhaled sharply.

Daryl looked up. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s not bad.”

The archer nodded and began applying the ointment as well. Once he finished, he picked one of the larger bandages and placed it neatly over the wound. The patch couldn’t cover the whole injury, so Daryl unwrapped another small band-aid and fit it so the remainder was covered.

After he pulled his hands back, Daryl exhaled shakily. His body was still trembling a bit from everything that had just transpired. He was embarrassed he turned that emotional, but things had escalated so quickly and then Paul was on the ground and—

He felt another tear escape his eye and he wiped it gruffly with his hand before it could fall down his cheek. Daryl glanced up, feeling eyes on him.

Paul was watching him, brows raised and eyes searching as his lip trembled. “Please don’t cry,” he whispered, reaching one hand out to caress Daryl’s face.

Daryl looked down. “Tryin’ not to,” he breathed wetly as more tears escaped.

Paul frowned, lips quivering as he failed to control his own emotions. He pulled the older man closer, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m okay,” he whispered into the crook of his neck.

Daryl nodded and placed his own arms around Jesus, squeezing tightly.

They stayed there hugging each other for a few minutes before Paul pulled back and slid down, lying his head on the bed’s pillow. “Come here,” he murmured.

The archer shifted himself completely onto the bed and scooted his body down so that he lay next to the smaller man. Once Daryl was settled, Paul leaned in close and kissed him, lips soft and gentle.

When Paul pulled back a few minutes later, he nuzzled his face into Daryl’s shirt. Arms wrapped around him, Daryl felt the smaller man’s breathing become unsteady and a slight wetness seep on his skin through his shirt.

He was crying.

Daryl pulled him in even closer and kissed the top of his head. As he lay there, Paul wrapped in his arms, he thought back to the way the younger man looked on the RV floor, face scrunched in pain. Daryl was so afraid that he’d been hurt… terrified he’d been about to lose the person he…the man he…

When the realization hit him, Daryl's stomach flipped and his heart slowed to a steady thump.

He was in love with Paul Rovia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who continues to read this story. I have so much fun writing it for you. :)
> 
> Please comment below if you enjoyed this chapter! Your feedback and thoughts are what really keep me inspired and motivate me to write more. Thanks for everything. :)
> 
> As usual, come talk to me on tumblr at darylxjesus.tumblr.com!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl fixes an old car. Jesus babysits. Secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the errors in this chapter, I haven't had an opportunity to edit carefully quite yet. Enjoy!

Throughout his life, Daryl never had a relationship that crossed the lines of family or friendship. When it came to romantic and sexual interactions, he was admittedly inexperienced. In part, he simply wasn’t interested—he’d been too preoccupied with all the shit happening around him—and the other part of himself felt too awkward to put himself those kinds of situations. While Daryl had a few encounters with women Merle pushed on him at parties, he’d never had anything serious. Hell, he'd never even been on a damn date. And he certainly, _absolutely_ had never been in love.

Daryl had never been in love, that is, until he met Paul Rovia.

If someone would have told him a few years back he’d eventually fall in love with a man who called himself Jesus, Daryl would have punched said person square in the face. But here he was, sitting in his post-apocalyptic home and watching Paul from across the couch, heart fluttering with the emotion.

The younger man's feet were propped up on Daryl's lap, his head against the armrest as he read a book. His brows were furrowed slightly in concentration, and Daryl could tell whenever something interesting happened in the story because they'd twitch up in surprise. Daryl had been staring for the past half hour, transfixed by how fucking cute he looked. The archer’s heart and mind raced with the three words that he was too afraid to say out loud as the younger man flipped another page. If Paul knew he’d been watching him, he clearly didn't mind.

It'd been a week since the incident at the supermarket. Paul had been different that night when they'd arrived back in Alexandria—quieter, softer. Daryl could tell he was still overwhelmed by everything that had just occurred, and that he was embarrassed by how much he’d cried in the RV. Daryl had never seen Paul cry before, and his tears had sent a wave of sadness through Daryl's heart. The archer had been so afraid, so _terrified_ of losing Jesus that he lost control of his own emotions. Daryl felt guilty if he scared the younger man.

After they had parted ways with Rick, Daryl guided a limping Paul back to his place. Once inside Daryl’s house, the archer pulled the shorter man softly into his arms. Paul had returned his embrace instantly, both of them silently expressing the tense emotion between them. They’d kissed tenderly afterwards and padded up to bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

Since then, Jesus had been staying at Daryl’s house full time. The archer hadn’t questioned it; in fact, being roommates felt more natural than being neighbors. Neither of them had brought it up in conversation or acknowledged the change. Paul started living in Daryl’s home like he belonged there all along. All of it sent Daryl’s nerves on fire, but he was too far gone to be overly nervous about it. He was just thankful Paul was healthy and safe.

The memories of last week reminded Daryl of the smaller man’s injured leg. He glanced down at the feet on his lap. Jesus was wearing sweatpants, so it’d be easy to roll up the edge and check on his scrape. It’d been pretty bad that first night—swollen and painful enough that he couldn’t help but limp—but Daryl’s shoddy first aid and more ointment from Denise helped heal it relatively quickly over the past few days. The injury was more of a large scab now, but Daryl found himself paranoid that it would get infected somehow.

Slowly, the brought his fingers to the hem of Jesus’ sweatpants around his ankles and began pushing it up over his shin. The movement caused Paul to tense up, surprised at the touch. Once the scab was in view, Daryl glanced over at the smaller man, who was looking back at him with questioning eyes, his book now deposited on his chest.

“Checking on me?” Jesus asked, smirking.

Daryl blushed, running his finger tips gently around the skin, but never touching the scab. “Does it still hurt?”

The younger man gave a soft smile. “It’s a little tender if you put pressure on it, but it’s really fine. I promise.”

“Kay,” Daryl nodded.

When Daryl glanced back at Jesus, the younger man was looking at him softly. They locked eyes, unspoken electricity flowing between them. It was moments like these where Daryl’s heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest from how fast it was racing. He was so fucking in love with Paul and the thought itself sent warm, tingly waves throughout his body. He was terrified, on the other hand, because how the hell does someone even tell another person that they love them? What if Jesus doesn’t love him back?

The older man dropped his eyes awkwardly, mind racing. Jesus then pulled his legs back from Daryl’s lap, straightening into a sitting position. The smaller man leaned over to place his dog-eared book on the coffee table before scooting over. Gently, Paul turned his body so he was facing Daryl completely and crossed his legs beneath him, knees brushing against Daryl’s thigh.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked quietly.

Daryl flicked his eyes back up to meet Paul’s. “Yea, m’fine,” he rasped.

Jesus didn’t look completely convinced, but he didn’t question Daryl’s response either. He nodded and placed one hand on his knee, gently squeezing.

“Just so you know, I’m okay too. You don’t have to worry,” Jesus murmured.

"Can’t help it,” Daryl mumbled, eyes darting downwards.

The younger man lifted one hand to Daryl’s cheek, turning the older man's head toward his own. The archer raised his eyes once more, meeting Jesus’. Paul wore a soft smile that sent another wave of warmth through his heart.

“I’m here,” Jesus whispered before leaning up and kissing him.

Daryl fell into the kiss easily, matching Paul’s motions as he angled his head to deepen the touch. After a few minutes of languid kissing, Jesus pulled back and rested his forehead against Daryl’s.

Eyes closed, they stayed there for a while, breathing softly surrounded by each other’s warmth. Paul then began placing soft kisses on Daryl's face before moving down to his neck. The older man couldn't help but groan as shivers tingled down his spine at Jesus' warm lips working over his sensitive skin.

The first two days after the accident, they’d taken things slow on the physical side of things, especially given what happened with Paul's injury. They had shared some heated kisses, both still overwhelmed with the lingering emotions from the RV. The moments, touches, and kisses were softer, more intimate—like they both had so many feelings they wanted to express but didn't know how to voice them. Despite their passion, nothing had gotten below the belt.

The third night, however, things changed. The two had begun kissing in bed before they fell asleep. Somehow it escalated to a passionate make out session, where the younger man ended on top of Daryl, grinding. The archer had come in his sweatpants like some damn teenager. He hadn’t had any release in a few days and he was amazed by how beautiful the man he loved looked above him, that it just...happened. Paul certainly didn't seem to mind though, since he did the same about two seconds later.

Since then, they’d been spending their nights together writhing between the sheets. Daryl so desperately wanted Paul to understand how he felt…but he was too damn terrified to just come out and tell him. So he channeled all his emotion to their intimate moments, trying his best to show the younger man how much he meant to him through his actions alone.

As Jesus kissed his neck, arousal flowing down to his groin, Daryl once again wanted to show him how he felt. Gently, Daryl brought one hand to Jesus’ shoulder and pushed him back slightly. The younger man pulled off his neck immediately and looked at him, concerned.

“What’s wrong?” he breathed.

Daryl blushed, shaking his head. “Nothin.”

Paul raised a skeptical brow. Before he could question further, Daryl lifted his other hand to Jesus’ cheek, brushing over his trimmed beard. He pushed a few brown locks behind his ear before leaning in and placing a soft kiss against his lips.

Daryl pulled back and searched his eyes briefly before leaning back in and kissing his lips. Slowly, he moved his kisses over Paul’s cheek and then down to his neck. He wasn’t very experienced in this sort of thing, but he knew how good what Jesus did to him felt, so he just copied as much as he could remember in his hazy, aroused mind.

He brought his lips to the crook of the younger man’s neck and kissed, sucking the skin slightly. Daryl must have done something right because Paul moaned, dropping his head to the side to give him ample room. The archer continued until the smaller man was breathing heavily next to him, little moans falling from his full lips. He nuzzled his forehead into Jesus’ neck before pulling back and catching his breath.

Paul looked at him softly, eyes hooded with arousal. “Daryl.”

The older man kissed Jesus’ shoulder before scooting back and standing up from the couch. Paul looked up at him with round eyes, confused.

“Lie down,” Daryl whispered, motioning toward the now empty space on the couch.

Jesus raised his brows and stifled a shy smile. “Okay,” he breathed before turning himself and reclining onto the couch, head at one end and feet on the other. His long hair fanned around his head on the cushion.

Daryl felt his heart race. He was nervous—usually Jesus took the lead with all of this. Biting his lip, Daryl leaned down and climbed over the smaller man. He placed his knees and elbows on the outside of Paul’s own, now hovering over him.

Paul smiled, cheeks pink. “Hey there,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Daryl responded before leaning down and kissing him. Jesus responded earnestly, angling his head to deepen their kiss.

Soon enough, Jesus' hands were roaming up and down Daryl's back as their tongues tangled. They moaned into each other's mouths and Daryl moved one hand down to cup the younger man's erection through his sweatpants.

Jesus turned his head from the kiss at the touch, moaning. Daryl rubbed him over the clothing a few more times before spitting into his hand and reaching underneath the fabric, taking Paul's hard, warm length into his palm.

The smaller man whimpered, arching up into Daryl's touch.

“Fuck,” he breathed as the older man began a steady rhythm.

Daryl kissed his neck again, paying special attention to the spot that made him moan earlier. With each stroke, he felt Jesus getting harder in his hand, and it sent a shot of electricity down his own spine. He wanted to see more, feel more.

Sitting up on his knees, Daryl reached down and pulled Jesus’ sweatpants over his waist, letting his dick spring free. He paused, taking in the sight below him. He could feel the younger man’s eyes on him, waiting for Daryl’s next move.

A sudden thought passed through Daryl’s mind. Before he even realized what he was doing, Daryl moved down the couch slowly and bent over Jesus. He wrapped his hand around the younger man's length and stroked him twice before flicking his eyes up toward Paul. The man’s chest was moving quickly and his pupils were blown, clearly aroused by how close the archer’s head was to his leaking dick.

“ _Daryl_ ,” he murmured, reaching one hand down to brush back the bangs in dark haired man’s eyes over his forehead. Jesus inhaled shakily as Daryl moved closer.

Slowly, Daryl brought his lips to the tip of Paul’s dick and kissed it briefly.

“Oh my god,” Jesus breathed.

“Dunno how to do it,” Daryl murmured in response, feeling his own heart pump nervously.

Paul gently ran his hand through Daryl’s hair again. “You don’t have to.”

“Wanna,” the older man mumbled before placing his lips back on Jesus’ cock. The younger man moaned instantly.

Daryl kissed the head a few times before experimentally giving it a lick. Jesus whimpered above him, tightening his hand in Daryl’s hair. He tasted some of the younger man’s precome on his tongue, and although the thought was strange, it wasn’t unpleasant. Daryl licked again, covering more area this time.

The archer realized he had no idea what to do next, but he didn’t want to stop. Slowly, he gave Jesus’ cock a few strokes with his hand before opening his mouth and sliding it inside his lips.

“ _Daryl_ ,” the younger man moaned loudly, voice more high-pitched than he’d heard it before. Daryl moved up his mouth up Jesus’ cock slowly and then dropped his head back down, starting a gentle rhythm.

“Holy shit— _fuck_ , yeah, hollow your cheeks, yeah that’s it,” Paul mumbled in ecstasy above him.

Daryl’s confidence swelled at the smaller man’s words, and he increased his speed, bobbing his head up and down and his lips glided around Jesus’ length. His cock wasn’t too long, but it was decently large for a man his size. He couldn’t fit the whole thing inside without gagging, so he used the hand not propping himself up to move in tandem at the base of his dick.

It wasn't long before Daryl felt the tell-tale shivers in Paul’s leg’s next to him, signaling his nearing orgasm. The archer wanted it to be as good as possible, so he removed his hand and mouth from Jesus’ dick and put two fingers in his mouth, sucking.

He sat up and shifted downwards. Gently, spread the smaller man’s legs and placed one finger between his cheeks, teasing his hole. He pushed in slowly, Paul’s warm heat enveloping his digit easily. The sight was so fucking hot that Daryl moaned himself before bending back down and taking Paul inside his mouth.

Both of Jesus’ hands were now in Daryl’s hair as he moaned. The older man kept bobbing his head and pushing his finger in and out, trying his best to keep them in time with one another. The younger man’s thighs shook in pleasure, and by the way he kept thrusting his hips slightly up with every bob of Daryl’s head, he was close.

Daryl pushed in another finger along with the first and bent them slightly, remembering that spot from a few nights back.

“Oh my god,” Jesus moaned loudly, fisting his hands in Daryl’s dark hair.

Daryl bobbed a few more times before he felt Paul’s hands on his cheeks, slightly pushing.

“Babe, baby I’m gonna cum,” he moaned.

Daryl slid his mouth off his dick and increased the speed of his hand instead, jerking him quickly. He kept his fingers inside Paul, hitting the same spot over and over.

“ _Daryl_ ,” Paul moaned before coming, shooting up onto his shirt and over Daryl’s hand.

Once he finished, the older man wiped his hand on Jesus’ sweatpants before pulling them back up over his waist. When he looked back up at the smaller man, he was beaming wide, completely blissed out.

“What?” Daryl asked, unable to control his own smirk.

“You gave me a blow job,” Jesus teased.

Daryl smiled shyly, cheeks pink. “Yea, well, so have you.”

“Yeah, but that’s different,” Paul started, sitting up, “You’ve never done it before.”

The archer shrugged. “Just wanted to make you feel good.”

Jesus brought one hand to Daryl’s cheek. “You did. You're amazing.”

Daryl couldn’t help the tug of his lips at the compliment. He dropped his eyes downward as his blush deepened.

“Thank you,” Paul added softly.

The older man looked up to meet his eyes before leaning over and kissing him. “Ain’t gotta thank me,” he breathed once he pulled back.

Jesus smiled. “Oh, trust me, I’ll thank you later,” he replied with a mischievous look.

Daryl snorted, cheeks flaring up again.

“We should clean up,” Jesus said, looking down at his soiled shirt. “Want to shower?”

The taller man’s stomach flipped. Paul had been saying the same thing often after they’d finish, but Daryl always brushed it off or made some excuse. He was afraid Jesus wanted to shower with him. It’s not that he didn’t want to—he did, he _really_ did—but that meant Jesus seeing his back in the full light.

He loved Paul, and he knew the scars wouldn’t be an issue. But something inside him still wanted to avoid the whole situation altogether. At least for now.

“I’m okay, I’ll just wash up,” he shrugged.

Jesus nodded. “Okay, meet you back down in a bit,” he said before pressing a quick kiss to Daryl’s lips.

Once Paul was upstairs, Daryl dropped his head against the pillows of the couch and sighed. He had an hour before he was supposed to meet up with Rick about some project, so he closed his eyes and breathed in, letting sleep gently wash over him.

 

* * *

 

“So, how’s Jesus doing?”

Daryl looked up from under the hood of the car, sending a questioning look at Carol. He’d been trying to fix the damn thing for the past two hours. Daryl had thought Rick’s “project” was going to be more of a joint effort, but in actuality it was just a request for his mechanical expertise. Apparently he and Glenn wanted to fix up the old dud, use it to transport more people on runs without having to always use the RV. They learned the hard way how valuable it could be out in the field, and losing it would be very unfortunate.

Carol had shown up about forty minutes into his efforts with some water and a cookie, which he appreciated, but the woman hadn’t stopped talking since. Most questions earned a grunt or one-word response, but none had caused him to look up and stop his ministrations. Until she asked about Jesus, that was.

He felt his face pinken, which just made him even more embarrassed. “What about him?” he asked.

Daryl knew Rick wouldn’t have told everyone about what happened last week, given that he knew the nature of his and Jesus’ relationship and how things escalated emotionally at the supermarket. But clearly Carol knew something was up. Daryl recognized that tone.

The grey-haired woman raised her brows, moving to lean against the car. “Well, after your run with Rick I hadn’t seen you two around. I asked him about it and he said Jesus had a small injury, nothing major. Then he walked off strangely like he was trying to stop himself from saying more,” she said, eyes twinkling.

Daryl cleared his throat, moving back down under the hood to obscure his darkening blush. “Yea, he’s fine now,” he mumbled.

Carol hummed next to him, but didn’t relent. “I stopped by earlier today to check on him, bring some cookies. He wasn't there.”

The archer glanced up, eyes narrowed. “You ain’t givin’ up, are you?”

“Nope.”

Daryl sighed, wiping his hands with his towel before dropping it to the ground and moving next to the woman. She looked at him expectantly, if not a bit amused.

“He’s been with me,” Daryl mumbled.

Carol lifted a brow, stifling a smile. “Oh?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Shut up.”

Carol chuckled but moved on from the topic, knowing that Daryl would be too embarrassed to pursue it further. “How did he get hurt?”

Daryl lazily kicked a stray rock next to his boot. “Shit went down on the run, too many walkers. Out of fuckin’ nowhere.”

“What happened?” Carol asked, voice now laced with concern.

“Got swarmed in the parking lot. A bunch fell over and hit Jesus, knockin’ him to the ground. They didn’t…he just skinned his leg on the gravel.”

Carol nodded. “You must have been scared for him, though.”

Daryl exhaled, looking down at his muddy boots. “Yea.”

After a few beats of silence, Carol pushed herself from the car. “I’m glad he’s okay. That you’re both okay.”

“I’m also glad you two are together,” she added. “I won’t tell anyone until you want me to—although I suspect Rick already knows?”

"Yea, he knows,” he rasped.

Carol smirked. “Well, I promise I won’t tell anyone else about it until you’re ready.”

The archer looked at her and gave a quick nod. She leaned over and pressed a quick peck to his forehead, lightly messing his hair with her right hand.

“See you later,” she said before turning around and heading down the sidewalk.

Once she was gone, Daryl let out a deep breath. Carol knew. Rick knew. He hadn’t even thought about how he’d go about letting the others know. In fact, he just kind of assumed they’d realize it eventually by figuring things out when he and Jesus were around. Like Carol and Rick did. He didn’t want their relationship to be some big announcement, but he didn't have anything to hide either. He wanted to be with Jesus and he didn’t care who knew about it.

Suddenly, Daryl's stomach flipped. What if Jesus wanted it to be a big announcement?

The archer's train of thought caused him to ponder further about the nature of their relationship. They’d only crossed over the lines of friendship a little over a week ago. Daryl knew Jesus didn’t want to rush things _too_ quickly, and neither did he, but they hadn’t even discussed…well, what they were exactly.

Daryl never had a girlfriend or anything so all of this was completely new to him. Was Jesus his…boyfriend? Did Jesus even want to be his boyfriend? Did people become couples this quickly after getting together? Or did it make sense given that he and Jesus had been dancing around their feelings for one another over several months?

Shit, should he…should he ask Jesus about it? He didn’t want to embarrass himself if he was committing some sort of social faux pas (which happened often, in his case).

Daryl was in love with Paul. He wanted to be with him...date him...or whatever the right terminology was. How did he bring that kind of thing up, though? And...should he tell Paul he loved him before they talked about dating? Or after?

Fuck, maybe he should have opened up more to Carol, gotten her advice. Daryl raised both hands to his face and rubbed over the bridge of his nose. He breathed in deeply before ducking back under the hood. All of this shit confused the hell out of him, so he continued fixing the sedan to distract himself from thinking about it any further.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Daryl finished the car and returned back home. The sun was beginning to settle low in the sky, clouds puffy and soft in shades of purplish  and pink. When he walked inside, however, Jesus wasn't alone. The shorter man sat cross-legged on the living room carpet, toys strewn around him haphazardly. Next to him was little Judith, who was giving a toothy smile as she tried to reach up and grab Jesus' long hair.

“No sweetie, here, play with Mr. Giraffe,” Paul said, shaking the infamous pink statuette in one hand. Judith clearly wasn’t interested in the item, because she kept motioning at his hair, giggling.

Jesus sighed. “Okay fine, you can have it.”

It was only a few more seconds before the younger man sensed Daryl’s presence. He looked quickly over his shoulder. “Didn’t even hear you come in,” he said as Judith laughed.

“Lil’ Asskicker come to visit?” Daryl smirked before sitting down next to both of them.

“Rick stopped by and asked if I could watch her for a while. He should be back soon actually,” Paul said, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Daryl grunted. “Yea, he must be busy today. Asked me to help him fix up a car and bailed.”

Jesus raised a brow. “Is that what you were doing all this time?”

“Yea.”

“How’d it go?”

Daryl shrugged. “Alright. I’m greasy,” he said looking down at his soiled clothing and dirty arms.

Jesus grinned. Before he could respond, Judith had climbed up his lap and began pulling on his hair. The younger man laughed and pulled her into his arms, allowing her to play with the locks that fascinated her so much. Daryl couldn’t help but snort.

“She likes you,” Daryl murmured.

“Seems like she’s just interested in my hair,” Paul smirked in response.

“Don’t blame her.”

Jesus raised a brow, smirk turning into a grin. “Oh, is that right?”

Daryl looked away, stifling a smile as his cheeks reddened.

At that moment, a knock sounded from the front door. Jesus grinned down at the small girl in his arms.

“ _I think your Dad’s here,_ ” he sing-songed before sitting up and making his way to the door. Daryl began cleaning up the toys on the floor, gathering them in his hands.

Jesus opened the door to a sweaty Rick.

“Thanks for watching her,” he smiled, taking his daughter from Jesus’ arms.

“No problem. She’s a pleasure.”

Daryl walked over, handing Rick the toys. His friend smiled and took them.

“Thanks man. Hey—how’d the car go?”

“Gotta work on it some more tomorrow, but it’s shapin’ up,” he rasped.

“Good, that’s good. You two should come over sometime for dinner—it’s the least I can do.”

Jesus smiled, glancing up at Daryl before looking over to Rick. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Daryl gave an awkward smile and nod.

“Alright,  I’ll set something up. See you guys later,” he said before turning around and leaving, little Judith in tow.

After he shut the door, Jesus turned to Daryl. He looked him up and down once, a small smirk forming on his lips. “You _are_ greasy.”

Daryl snorted. “That’s what happens when you spend all day fixin’ an engine.”

“Do you um, do you want to wash up? I can get dinner started.”

Daryl shrugged. He could use a shower. “Yea, that sounds good.”

Jesus smiled before leaning up and placing a kiss on his cheek.

Daryl blushed deeply, aware of how hard his heart suddenly started beating. His mind raced with those same three words that had settled there last week. He was too terrified to say them, so instead he returned the kiss and headed upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Forty minutes later, Daryl stepped out of the shower into the steamy bathroom. He’d managed to get all the grease off, although they’d have to check the supply trove for more soap since he’d used up his remaining bar. Daryl never used to wash his hair often, but he found himself doing it all the time now that he was with Jesus. The younger man’s always looked so nice, the least he could do was keep it clean. He’d spent extra time in the warm water trying to clean himself as thoroughly as possible, washing his skin and hair. He didn’t want to smell weird or anything…especially when they’re as close as they were earlier that day.

Reaching into the closet beside the shower, he pulled out a large towel and dried off his head, ruffling the fabric over his hair. He then wiped down his arms and body before wrapping the towel around his waist. Daryl wiped the foggy mirror with his hands to get a look at himself: his damp hair hung around his face, which looked freshly tanned. He didn't look horrible, actually.

He patted his feet on the mat below him before walking onto the cool tile and opening the bathroom door. When he entered his bedroom, it was nearly dark. Even though the weather was still warm during the daylight, the earlier sunsets and chillier nights reminded Daryl that fall was coming soon.

Daryl walked over to his bureau and began rummaging through his top drawer, looking for a clean pair of boxers. He found one and threw it over his shoulder onto the bed behind him. Now all he needed was something to wear and—

“Hey, you alright? Dinner’s alm…oh.”

Daryl turned around quickly, startled. Jesus was standing on the opposite side of the bed near to the door. The younger man was always so damn quiet on his feet and he didn't even hear him enter.

Paul’s eyes were wide and soft and he looked…sad. Daryl was confused for a moment before he realized what just happened.

Daryl had been facing the bureau when he walked in. He was only wearing his towel.

Jesus had seen everything.

The archer’s face turned red and he looked down. Fuck. He needed to do something—anything—to get out of this situation.

“Sorry, I’ll be right down,” Daryl rasped, still avoiding Jesus’ eyes.

“Daryl,” Paul responded softly.

The older man moved toward the bed and awkwardly picked up the boxers. He was going to just put them on and keep avoiding the elephant in the room, but he heard Jesus’ light footsteps around the bed, nearing him. He inhaled nervously, arms shaking on their own accord, and dropped them.

“Daryl?”

He finally looked up, meeting Jesus’ eyes. “What,” he grunted awkwardly.

Jesus breathed in before taking Daryl’s hand and leading him to the side of the bed. They both leaned against the edge, Jesus turned slightly to face Daryl.

“Was it him?” he asked, solemn voice barely over a whisper.

Daryl nodded as he looked down. He heard Paul curse and run a hand through his hair.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—”

“Ain’t got nothing to apologize for,” Daryl mumbled.

“I’d kill him. If he was here, right now, I’d probably fucking kill him.”

Daryl looked over at the younger man beside him. He was biting his lip, trying to hold back his feelings. His chest was rising and falling quickly.

“I noticed you avoided showing your back when we’ve been…I thought maybe…shit, I didn’t think…”

Jesus sighed, rubbing one hand over his face. Daryl's heart sunk. This is why he’d been putting off showing him. He didn’t want Paul to feel this way, he didn't want Paul to think differently of him now that he could see the evidence of what his father had done.

“It’s okay,” Daryl said.

Jesus moved in front of him then, eyes wide and earnest.

“No. It’s never okay,” he said. “I’m so sorry he hurt you. I just—you are so special to me and I wish I could take away all the pain he caused you.”

Daryl looked down as he felt his eyes begin to sting. He didn’t want to cry.

“Hey,” Jesus whispered, lifting one hand to raise Daryl’s chin. The older man looked up, holding back his tears.

“You don’t have to hide this from me. It’s never going to change how I feel,” he continued, voice soft.

Daryl swallowed, eyes darting back to the floor as his heart swelled with emotion.

The younger man pulled back as Daryl kept his eyes on his feet. He heard Jesus walk away, and he almost turned to watch him leave when he felt a change in weight on the mattress behind him. He glanced quickly over his shoulder to see the younger man shifting closer on his knees. Daryl looked back down as he felt Jesus settle behind him.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered before placing a soft kiss at the base of his neck.

Daryl felt himself become overwhelmed with emotions, just like he had been last week in the RV. When Jesus moved to the scar on his left shoulder blade and began kissing down its length, Daryl couldn’t hold back. He dropped his head and began crying softly.

Paul noticed and moved closer, nuzzling himself into Daryl’s back. He wrapped his arms around Daryl’s waist and kissed his other shoulder blade. “Never told me you had a tattoo either, you’re holdin’ out on me Dixon.”

Daryl gave a wet, breathy laugh and placed his hands over Jesus’ on his waist.

Jesus then gave another kiss over the tattoo before focusing on the large slash that crossed down his back. He released his hand from Daryl’s waist so he could move from scar to scar, kissing every inch of his marked his skin.

When he finished, Jesus placed a soft kiss at the base of Daryl’s neck before leaning his forehead against it. He stayed there quietly for a few minutes, neither of them moving.

Daryl felt Paul take in a deep, shaky breath against his skin. The younger man then lifted his head and shifted against the comforter.

“Daryl?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yea?”

The room was silent.

“I love you.”

Daryl froze.

“W-What?”

Paul took in another shaky breath. “I’m in love with you.”

Daryl sat up from the bed and turned around. He wiped the lingering wetness from his cheeks. He wasn’t sure if he had originally planned to say something, but now he just stood in front of Jesus, stunned.

“You don’t have to feel the same way,” Paul murmured, eyes searching Daryl’s. “But I’m in love with you. I love every part of you and I want you to know that.”

Before he even knew what he was doing, Daryl bent down and captured Jesus’ lips with his own. He pulled back and looked at the man, whose eyes were wide and shining.

“I love you too.”

Paul’s face wavered with pure emotion at the words, his lips trembling into a smile. He leaned up and pulled Daryl down to him, pressing their lips together.

Daryl felt warmth sweep from his heart across his whole body.

Paul loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp, they said it!! 
> 
> Please comment below with your thoughts on this chapter! Your feedback and support keep me going. 
> 
> There are only two more chapters left! What's going to happen next? Chapter 12 will pick up where we left off in this scene. ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Jesus take the next step. Rick makes a lasagna.

Daryl breathed in deeply as Paul planted warm kisses down his neck.

They’d been kissing for the past forty minutes, clothes long deposited on the floor as skin moved against skin underneath the cool sheets of the archer's bed. In their passion, the smaller man had settled on top of him, placing soft kisses over his lips and body. Daryl's thoughts hung in a fog of lust and emotion with each movement, Paul’s three earlier words playing over and over in his mind.

_I love you._

Aside from Merle and his mother, no one had said those words to him in his life. Merle didn’t count, not really, given how the phrase was often uttered as his claim that he'd be the only person to ever love his little brother. However fleeting those familial bonds may have been, it was the only kind of love Daryl had ever experienced.

One one hand, the thought that Paul returned his feelings baffled Daryl—he never expected someone like that to ever be _in love_ with someone like him, especially after knowing all his shit. On the other, however, Daryl’s heart was overwhelmed with joy to the point that he felt as if he might cry. Normally the archer would be too embarrassed even to admit that thought to himself, but he really didn’t give a fuck anymore. Paul loved him back and, for the first time in a long time, he was happy.

Daryl turned his head to the side, giving the younger man better access to his skin. Jesus placed kisses over the curve of his neck, lips full and warm, and slid down his body before settling between his legs underneath the comforter. Paul pushed back the sheets a bit so he could peep his head out. Daryl couldn’t help but smirk.

Jesus gave a soft smile in response and kissed Daryl’s stomach lightly. Daryl moaned as the smaller man moved his lips down to Daryl’s erection, kissing over the warm, smooth skin.

This he hadn’t expected either, how much he enjoyed being intimate with Paul. Daryl wondered if he was just more attracted to men than he was women—Jesus had said that was possible, he remembered—or if he was just so in love that he felt comfortable enough to feel the pleasure fully. It didn’t matter, Daryl decided, because he didn’t want to be with anyone else, woman or man, for as long as he lived in this dying world.

As Paul bobbed his mouth over his dick, Daryl felt himself get much harder. Knowing that Jesus loved him back made every touch and kiss more meaningful, and his body responded to that eagerly. He couldn’t remember a time he felt more turned on, even over the past few days with Jesus. Daryl moaned softly and closed his eyes, letting the hot swell of emotion course throughout his veins.

A few minutes later, Jesus pulled his mouth off and began kissing up Daryl’s torso. He settled himself on his elbows and hovered over Daryl. The older man raised one hand to Paul’s forehead, brushing back his long hair and tucking it behind his ear. Their eyes locked, gently searching each other.

“I love you,” Jesus murmured.

Daryl closed his eyes at the words, letting out a shuttering exhale. Paul bent down and kissed him. Daryl pressed his lips back at the touch and moved them in tandem with Jesus’ motions. The younger man pulled away after a few seconds and Daryl inhaled, catching his breath.

“I love you so much, Daryl,” Jesus whispered again.

The archer felt his lips twitch downward. The lump building in his throat signaled his nearing tears, but he didn’t want to let himself go that far. He breathed in softly, controlling his emotions, and murmured, “I love you.”

Jesus smiled above him, eyes glistening, and then leaned back down to continue their kiss.

After several minutes of slow kissing, Paul pushed his tongue into Daryl’s mouth, earning a deep moan from the older man. Daryl moved his hands to settle on Jesus’ hips as their movements turned more passionate, heads angling and tongues sliding over one another. Jesus shifted his hips and aligned them with Daryl’s and began to gently grind down atop him.

Daryl broke their kiss and grunted at the feeling of Jesus’ erection pressing into his own. Paul repeated the motion a few times before sitting up and aligning his ass over Daryl’s groin. He sat down and continued to grind, rocking over the archer’s cock.

“Holy shit,” Daryl moaned, fumbling his hands to get a better grip on Jesus’ hips.

The younger man smirked. “Good?”

“Yea,” Daryl breathed, closing his eyes. “Fuck.”

Jesus moaned softly above him. After a few more movements he bent down and began kissing Daryl fervently, pressing his lips over the older man's, then his cheeks, and finally his neck. “God, I want you so much,” he breathed.

“You already got me,” Daryl murmured distractedly as the younger man grinded his hips in little circles.  

The younger man pulled back to look a Daryl, a shy smile on his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yea.”

“You wanna be inside me?”

“Shit,” Daryl moaned, closing his eyes and arching his head back into the pillows.

“Is that a yes?” Jesus whispered, his voice laced with amusement.

The archer moaned again, tightening his grip on the younger man’s soft waist. “Yea,” he breathed.

Paul bent down and kissed Daryl hungrily. They continued for a few seconds before the younger man rolled over and pulled Daryl so that he was now on top. The archer hovered above him, eyes blown as he looked down at Paul.

“You sure?” Daryl asked, heart pounding nervously.

Jesus smirked. “Very,” he breathed, running his hands up Daryl’s strong biceps. “You sure you want to?”

Daryl was nervous, he wouldn’t deny that. He was new to all of this and he was afraid he’d either hurt Jesus or that his performance would be lackluster. He loved Paul. He wanted this to be good for him.

“Yea, it’s just, uh…” Daryl started, cheeks pinking.

Jesus cocked his head. “We don’t have to—”

“No, I want to. You just gotta show me how.”

The younger man’s expression softened, a small smile playing at his swollen lips. “I will. We’ll take it slow, okay?”

Daryl nodded, inhaling deeply to calm himself down. Jesus sensed the tension and arched up to catch the older man’s lips, starting a slow rhythm between them. They kissed languidly for several minutes before Jesus angled his head, their movements deepening. Their tongues intertwined and the younger man brought his hands to rest on Daryl’s waist.

It wasn’t long before they were rutting against each other, desperate for more friction. Jesus broke their kiss and ran his fingers up and down Daryl’s back, gently caressing his scars. It sent a chill over the archer’s skin and he closed his eyes to relish the feeling.

“You don’t happen to have any lube stashed in your bedside table, do you?” Jesus said after a few seconds of silence.

Daryl opened his eyes, cocking a brow. “What?”

Jesus smirked. “Never mind.”

Daryl shifted upwards. “I can uh, go see if I can get some. Maybe uh…Aaron or Eric—”

“No, that's okay,” Jesus chuckled, eyes mirthful. He began tugging on Daryl’s right arm. The older man lifted it as Jesus pulled his hand upwards. “You’re just gonna have to open me up a bit.”

Daryl got the hint and put two fingers in his mouth, wetting the skin. He brought the digits down to Jesus’ rim and pushed one in slowly. The younger man inahled.

“You can put in another,” Paul murmured after a few seconds.

The archer obliged, pushing in his middle finger alongside his index. A few minutes later Jesus was clinging to his back and rocking his hips to meet Daryl’s fingers. “Another,” he moaned.

Daryl’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he pumped three fingers into Paul’s ass. The younger man below him moaned sweetly as Daryl's fingers worked inside his body. Daryl made sure to angle his hand and hit the spot Jesus liked so much.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Jesus breathed after a few minutes. Daryl stopped, heart thumping, and pulled his fingers out.

“Um, how do you want me to—”

“I like this, you on top of me. Come ‘mere,” Jesus murmured as he pulled Daryl’s hips closer and aligned them with his own. The smaller man widened his legs and bent his knees to make room for Daryl between them.

The archer felt his heartbeat speed up. His cock was hard and leaking between his legs and _fuck_ he wanted this so badly.

Holy shit. This was really happening.

The younger man then reached his arm down between them and wrapped his hand around Daryl’s cock. The archer dropped his head and moaned at the contact. Jesus stroked him a few times before placing one hand on Daryl’s lower back and pushing gently, signaling Daryl to lower himself between the younger man’s legs.

“Right here, baby,” Jesus whispered as he positioned Daryl’s cock. He shifted his hips downward slightly so that his rim gently brushed against the head of Daryl’s dick.

Daryl his body set aflame at the feeling, warm shivers of electricity moving down his spine. He moaned softly, earning a similar response from the man below him.

Jesus removed his hand from Daryl's length and instead placed it on the larger man's shoulder. The archer knew enough about sex to take things from here, and he breathed in deeply before balancing himself on one elbow. He placed his other hand on the base of his dick, keeping it steady and in line. Slowly, he pushed forward, gently entering the warm skin of Jesus’ rim.

“Oh my god,” Paul whimpered.

Daryl kept pushing in slowly, watching his head disappear into Jesus' warm heat. He’d never felt something so fucking good in his life, and he couldn’t help but whine in the back of his throat. As he continued his entrance, warmth pooled in his groin and waves of pleasure swept over his body.

_Holy fucking shit._

Once fully inside, Daryl moaned and dropped himself to rest his head on Jesus’ shoulder. He took a few breaths, his hazy mind processing that he was actually  _inside_ Paul.

Jesus brought one hand to Daryl’s head and began sifting his fingers through his dark, damp hair. He turned his head and kissed the older man’s cheek. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whispered into Daryl’s ear.

Daryl gave a breathy moan and lifted himself up to look down at Jesus.

“You can move,” the younger man breathed, rolling his hips.

Daryl moaned again and began pulling backward, his dick sliding out from inside Jesus. Before he pushed out completely, he slid slowly back inside.

“ _Shit_ , yeah baby,” Jesus moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. The younger man then lifted his knees and spread his legs further, allowing for a better angle.

The archer continued his movements, slowly moving in and out of the smaller man underneath him.

Before long, Jesus’ legs were wrapped around Daryl’s waist as he moaned with every thrust. “Faster,” he breathed.

Daryl obliged, increasing his speed. The added friction sent waves of hot pleasure throughout his body. He grunted as he put more weight on his biceps so he could thrust even quicker.

“Oh fuck, Daryl,” Jesus murmured, voice airy and hot. The sound turned Daryl on more—if that was even possible—and he groaned, increasing his speed even further.

Jesus pulled Daryl down and began kissing him, tongues intertwining as Daryl’s hips snapped into him. Daryl could feel another pulse of pleasure down his shaft and he knew he was getting close. He slowed down and broke their kiss, breathing heavily.

“Ain’t gonna last,” Daryl managed.

Jesus rolled his hips up, earning a soft moan from the man above him. “Don’t care, want you to come,” Jesus breathed.

Daryl grunted and began a quicker rhythm. The younger man closed his eyes and arched, moaning breathily deep in his throat. He quickly wrapped one hand around his own dick and began pumping in tandem with Daryl’s thrusts.

The sight nearly made Daryl come himself, and he tried his best to increase his speed even further. The angle was a bit awkward, so he shifted his own knees further apart and began his rhythm once more.

“Fuck!” Jesus moaned suddenly, arching his head back into the pillow.

Daryl wasn't sure what he did, but the sounds coming from Paul's mouth made him feel pretty proud of himself. He repeated the motion a few more times, hitting the same spot with the head of his dick.

“Yeah, right there,” Paul whimpered as he stroked his own dick faster.

Daryl breathed heavily as he moved, little moans huffing into the air. Waves of hot pleasure traveled from his dick through his entire body and he felt sweat dripping down his back. After a few more thrusts he felt his orgasm building, low and hot in his groin.

“ _Ungh_ —Paul,” Daryl moaned, dropping his head once more to Jesus’ shoulder. He was near enough that he could feel the back of the younger man’s hand brush against his stomach with each stroke.

The archer tried to continue his fast rhythm, but he soon felt his thrusts become erratic as he neared closer to his peak.

Jesus whined beneath him and he pumped himself quickly, trying to keep up with Daryl’s motions. It wasn’t long before the younger man’s own breathing became erratic, his hips stuttering up as he arched off the bed.

“Daryl, m’gonna come,” he breathed, eyes closed tight.

Daryl groaned into Jesus’ neck, snapping his hips quickly.

“Oh my— _Daryl_ ,” Paul whined as he came, releasing onto his hand and bare stomach.

Jesus’ orgasm squeezing around his dick almost caused Daryl to black out. The feeling sent another wave of white-hot pleasure down his spine and he was able to thrust two more times before his orgasm shocked through his body. Daryl moaned into the sweaty skin of the Jesus’ neck as he felt himself pulse inside the smaller man.

“Daryl,” Paul moaned, moving his hands to settle on the larger man’s shoulder blades.

When he finished, Daryl stayed atop Jesus, breathing in the scent of the younger man’s sweat-laden skin. He felt the inhale and exhale of Jesus' chest calm as his soft hands moved gently over the skin of Daryl's back. After several moments the archer finally moved, pulling out. He hovered over Jesus and searched his eyes. 

The younger man reached up and pressed his lips against Daryl’s. They kissed lazily for what felt like hours before Daryl finally settled on his side beside Jesus. Paul had already closed his eyes and a soft smile was playing on his lips.

Daryl breathed a few times before murmuring, “I love you.”

Jesus blinked open his eyes and shifted closer to Daryl. He intertwined their fingers and nuzzled into the crook of Daryl’s neck.

“Love you so much,” he exhaled.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, the pair woke with growling stomachs.

Their dinner was completely forgotten following everything that happened that night, and sleep had quickly consumed them after the sex. They woke up a few hours later in the middle of the night, only to repeat their earlier lovemaking. When they finally awakened during the morning light, warm rays filtering through the blinds of Daryl’s bedroom, they still didn't leave bed for the next several hours. They kissed, they fucked, they talked. Daryl had never experienced anything like it before. He wouldn’t give it up for the world.

When they finally decided to leave the warmth of Daryl's bed, their stomachs grumbling angrily, they both moved downstairs into the kitchen. Out of sheer laziness, the pair ate the dinner Jesus had cooked the night before for breakfast.

At Jesus' suggestion, the two spent their afternoon together hunting. Daryl had planned to use the three rabbits they'd caught to make dinner for Paul, but when the two returned to Alexandria, Rick had other plans.

The former officer stood on the archer’s porch, knocking on the door expectantly.

Daryl and Jesus neared the house from behind. It wasn’t long before Rick sensed the two men approaching, and he turned around, brows raised. He hopped down the wooden steps and met them on the walkway.

“There you are. I was looking for you two.”

“Been huntin,” Daryl rasped, nudging the bag full of game on his shoulder.

Rick hummed. “Catch anything good?”

“Some rabbits,” Daryl shrugged.

“Well, if you’re planning on eating those tonight no problem, but I stopped by to invite you over for that dinner. I’m making lasagna.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Jesus responded. “What time?”

Rick shrugged, making a noncommittal frown. “Whenever. I haven’t started cooking yet.”

“Well, let us drop these off and clean up, and then we’ll come over.” Jesus turned his head and glanced at Daryl. “That okay, babe?” he added, voice lower.

Rick clearly didn’t miss Jesus' pet name because his eyebrow quirked up in amusement.

Daryl flushed. “Yea, that’s good.”

“Great,” their leader responded. “See you soon.”

Rick patted Jesus on the shoulder before heading off down the sidewalk back to his home.

 

* * *

 

“No, Rick—here, let me.”

Michonne pulled the lasagna from the oven with two mitts, strong arms easily lifting the large tray and placing it on the  stovetop. “Nearly burned yourself,” she murmured, raising a brow at her boyfriend.

Daryl snorted from across the island where he sat nursing a glass of bourbon. Rick had offered the drink to him when he first walked in a half hour ago and he couldn’t _not_ accept it.

“ _Hey_ ,” Rick intoned, turning around after hearing Daryl’s expression of amusement.

“What? Didn’t do nothin,” Daryl rasped, holding back a smirk.

Michonne rolled her eyes. “Okay, you two. I’m going to help Jesus with the table.”

She then gave Rick a look, smirking. “Let it cool for a few seconds. Then bring it into the dining room. _Using mitts_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man responded, a smile forming as he leaned in and pecked her lips.

Once she was gone from the kitchen, Daryl raised a brow at Rick.

“Don’t give me that look,” his friend smirked.

“What look?” Daryl shrugged, amusement glinting in his eyes.

Rick rolled his eyes and walked over to the opposite side of the kitchen island. “Plus,” the man began, “I’m the one who should be giving the looks.”

Daryl met his eyes, actually confused this time. “What’d ya mean?”

It was Rick’s turn to look amused. “Jesus.”

The archer blushed instantly, looking down at the almost-finished glass of bourbon in his hands. He couldn't help how his lips tugged upwards at the sound of Paul’s name.

“I’m happy for you, Daryl. I really mean that.”

Daryl looked up, meeting Rick’s eyes again. His expression was open and earnest.

“Thanks.”

Rick smiled softly. “You’re welcome.”

“M’ happy for you too, you know,” Daryl responded awkwardly.

His friend chuckled. “I know.”

“Hey, it’s probably cool now. Bring it in!” Michonne called from the next room.

Both men turned their heads at the sound. Rick smiled at Daryl before slipping on the cooking mitts and picking up the large tray. “Time to eat.”

 

* * *

 

The foursome sat at the dining room table as Rick recounted another one of his strange stories from his days as a cop. This tale involved a broken tractor, three high school football players, and a Christmas tree farm. Jesus laughed beside Daryl, smiling warm and wide as the story progressed. Michonne was shaking her head in vague amusement, but even she had trouble stifling her own laughter.

The archer had always liked the woman. She was fierce and a damn good fighter, but she also was quiet and closed-off—much like himself. Daryl never saw her quite like this, happy and mirthful and completely comfortable in her home. He’d never heard her say so, but her expression was enough for Daryl to know she loved Rick.

Daryl wondered if that’s how he looked around Jesus. Totally and stupidly in love. He fidgeted with the bracelet the younger man had given him under the table, rubbing his thumb over the smooth leather as his heartbeat thumped quicker at the thought.

As usual, Paul seemed to intuit Daryl’s emotions and moved one hand under the table to rest on the older man’s knee. He gently squeezed and glanced over at Daryl, smiling.

The archer took the hand that had been fumbling with the bracelet and placed it on top of Paul’s instead.

The night continued with a bundt cake, red wine, and more anecdotes from Rick. After the sun set, Daryl and Jesus said their goodbyes and left the house with a tupperware full of leftover lasagna at Rick’s insistence.

When they returned back to Daryl’s house, Jesus shutting the heavy door behind them, the younger man sighed.

“That was fun.”

Daryl appraised the smaller man with a small smile. Paul was clearly a bit tipsy from the several glasses of Cabernet he'd consumed over the course of their meal. The archer chuckled to himself as Jesus teetered to the side when he bent over to deposit the lasagna in the fridge's freezer. It was endearing to see the man who was usually so nimble not be able to keep balanced. Although, Daryl wondered if last night and this morning had anything to do with his inability to walk straight—Jesus had said something to that effect earlier. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that Daryl had realized exactly what he'd been suggesting. 

"Yea, it was,” he rasped in response.

“Rick’s a good friend. He and Michonne are sweet together.”

“Yea. They seem pretty in love.”

Jesus looked up as he shut the freezer door and padded over to Daryl. He wrapped both arms around the taller man's neck. "Yeah? Remind you of anyone?"

Daryl snorted, blushing. "Maybe."

The younger man grinned, cheeks flushed. He leaned up and captured Daryl's lips with his own.

They kissed softly for a few minutes before Daryl pulled away. He'd been thinking about it for over a day and he thought now was a good a time as any to start the conversation.

"Paul?" he breathed.

"Yeah?"

"I uh. I was wondering. So...Rick and Michonne know about us. And Carol."

"Actually, Tara’s probably figured it out by now too," Jesus added. "I told her I had a giant crush on you about two days after moving to Alexandria."

Daryl paused, face turning red. “I—really?"

"Yeah, she was the first non-straight person I met here so we bonded."

The archer shook his head, blush deepening. "No, I mean...you knew ya had a crush on me then?"

Paul smiled and glanced downward. “Daryl, I've had feelings for you since the day we met."

Daryl swallowed, heart swelling with warmth.

"Maybe not when you punched me in the face, though,” he added with a smirk.

The archer blushed. “M’sorry, I was an asshole.”

“Doesn’t matter now. Besides, I would have punched me too.”

Daryl snorted and dropped his head to rest his forehead against Paul’s.

“I love you,” Jesus whispered.

Daryl’s heart skipped a beat at the words, as it had every time over the past few hours. He didn’t think that would ever change.

“Love you too,” Daryl murmured.

They stood there in silence for several beats before Jesus began, “What were you gonna say before?”

Daryl straightened, raising his head. "What?"

"You started saying how Rick, Michonne, and Carol knew about us?"

“Oh. Yea. Well, uh…so…”

Jesus cocked a brow.

“I just…well everyone’s bound to know soon and I just wanna—,” Daryl sighed, rubbing one hand over his face. He was so bad at this shit.

He dropped his hands and inhaled. Fuck it.

“Can I call you my boyfriend? I mean we’re already together, I just didn't know how it worked…or if you want to call us something else. Or anything at all. Fuck, I d’unno.”

The younger man’s lips pressed into a shy smile. “Yes.”

Daryl blinked.

Jesus smiled wider and wrapped his arms around Daryl’s neck once more. “Yes,” he breathed before pressing his lips to the taller man’s.

As they kissed, Daryl’s heart swelled full of joy.

He’d never been this happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They did it!!! (Several times ;) ) 
> 
> Thanks so much for everyone's continued support throughout this story. I love all of you for your comments and feedback. It's been so inspiring and motivating. I love you. 
> 
> Only one more to go! (Don't be sad though, I'm planning on starting another Darus fic in the near future.)
> 
> If you liked this chapter, please leave a comment below!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The community receives a surprise addition.

Daryl stepped on the edge of his shovel and drove it into the ground, gently kicking up dirt to reveal newly-harvested potatoes. He was thankful the summer heat had subsided into the cool wind of early fall—it'd been enough of a change that the archer had swapped his sleeveless tees and button downs for long flannels and jean shirts—because otherwise he’d be sweating fucking bullets by now.

He’d been digging up vegetables of their harvest since morning. This plant in particular had reared eleven decently sized spuds, and he had to bend down and reach into the soil to remove them all. Carol had shown him how to garden during the spring, how to form smooth divots in the ground, sprinkle seeds down into the dirt, and cover the mound with the sodden earth. He’d found it monotonous, and he'd rather be contributing to his family’s meals out on a hunt. After a day out in the forest, he knew whether or not he’d come home with dinner. Farming and gardening was a long game; it required patience for days to know if things were actually growing and weeks more until the vegetable could actually be harvested. Daryl definitely preferred digging up the rewards over planting the seedlings.

Daryl dug up one more plant before he realized he’d finished the entire potato patch. He stuck the shovel into an empty space in the dirt and fastened it there, leaning his elbow and weight against its firm hold. Even though it was chilly out, he could feel his shirt begin to stick to his back in sweat.

Noticing movement from the corner of his eye, the archer straightened and turned clockwise to face who approached. Tara was walking over, dark hair tied back in her usual pony tail and carrying a large wicker basket with one hand and balanced against her left hip. She gave a bright smile as Daryl acknowledged her presence.

Once she reached the archer, she stopped and looked at the expanse of dirt below her. Her brows raised. “That’s a fuck-ton of potatoes.”

“Yea, counted ‘bout a hundred.”

“Carol really went ham planting these.”

Daryl snorted. Carol went “ham” with pretty much everything she did.

“Well, who doesn’t like potatoes?” Tara continued, squatting down to place the basket on the ground. “Looks like I might need another basket.”

The archer furrowed his brow. He assumed he’d be collecting all the potatoes as he did the other vegetables this morning, but it seemed Tara had other plans. He’d still help, at least.

“I can help ya,” Daryl rasped, removing the shovel in the ground.

Tara looked up at him, an unimpressed look on her face. “You don’t think I can do this myself?”

The archer blushed, embarrassed. “Uh, nah I just—”

A smile blossomed on the girl’s lips at Daryl’s mumble. “I’m fucking with you, Dixon.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes, but his blush continued to burn his cheeks.

“Besides,” Tara continued, turning her focus to the potatoes in front of her. She leaned forward and gathered several from one plant in her hands and dropped them into the wicker basket. “Your boyfriend is looking for you.”

The archer quirked up his lips. It’d been over a month since he had asked Jesus to be his boyfriend. The rest of the community had already guessed they were an item for a while, Daryl learned, and no one was surprised when the pair came out as officially dating. Even though it’d been a while, Daryl’s heart still skipped a beat when people referred to Paul as _his_ boyfriend.

Daryl gripped the shovel awkwardly. “Where uh, where’s he at?”

The brunette looked back up at Daryl, pausing her collecting. “He was just getting off watch. Said he was heading back to your place to shower.”

Daryl nodded. “You sure you good here?”

“I’m a big girl Daryl, I can handle a few potatoes. Go see him.”

The archer grunted in response and dropped the shovel lightly on the ground. “Case you need it.”

“ _Bye,_ Daryl.”

Walking off the green earth of Alexandria’s farming area, Daryl made his way onto the concrete and gravel, walking toward his and Jesus’ home.

 

* * *

 

When Daryl arrived back at the house, Jesus was lying on the couch, wearing a clean, long-sleeved henley and sweatpants, his damp hair hanging loose against his shoulders. He sat up when Daryl entered the living room.

“Hi,” Jesus smiled softly.

The archer dropped himself onto the couch next to Paul and leaned over to steal a quick kiss.

“Hey,” Daryl responded, a smile ghosting across his own lips.

The younger man’s grin widened. “Missed you. How was harvesting?”

Leaning back against the pillows, Daryl exhaled. “Tons of fucking potatoes.”

“Huh,” Jesus said as he raised a brow, considering the information. “That’s good though. Potatoes are delicious.”

“Yea, s’good. Plenty for everyone.”

Paul nodded as he shifted closer to Daryl. “How was all that shoveling? Your back hurt?”

Daryl turned his head. His shoulders were a bit sore if he was being honest. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, though. It wasn’t that bad.

“It’s alright,” he shrugged.

Jesus cocked his head, clearly not buying Daryl’s nonchalance. He stood up from the couch and extended his hand.

Daryl looked at the hand before him and then up at Jesus.

“You’ve been digging up crops for six days in a row. I know you must be sore. Come on, I’ll give you a massage upstairs.”

His heart filled with warmth at his boyfriend’s offer; a part of him still wasn’t used to such kindness. A massage did sound appealing, he wouldn’t lie. Plus, he’d never turn down the opportunity to be close to Paul.

Daryl quirked up his lips and took Paul’s hand, pushing himself up from the couch. “Fine,” he said with a smirk.

Paul chucked and intertwined their fingers. “Come on, _potato boy_.”

The archer rolled his eyes as he followed Jesus’ lead, up the stairs and into their bedroom.

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Daryl lay stomach-down on the bed, Jesus sitting on top of his behind as his fingers worked over his skin. Every so often the smaller man would bend over and kiss one of his scars. His boyfriend's actions sent swells of warmth over Daryl’s body, and if he wasn’t already sure he was in love with Paul he would be now.

Jesus paid special attention to the knots near his shoulder blades, rubbing over the skin with his thumbs to relieve the tension. Daryl wasn’t sure how Jesus learned to massage so well (and maybe he didn’t want to know, it’d probably just make him jealous), but it felt fucking amazing.

The younger man had talked intermittently, voice soft as he recounted his day and other thoughts, but for the majority of the time he stayed silent. Daryl knew Paul was doing it on purpose, controlling his urges to chat in order to foster a peaceful environment so the archer could relax. On one hand Daryl appreciated the sentiment, but on the other he felt a bit guilty. He knew Jesus was itching to start a conversation.

“What do ya wanna do tonight?” Daryl began, voice slightly muffled by the pillow next to him.

The younger man paused his movements for a second and then continued the massage. “Well, Rick invited us over again. Apparently the group is having a get-together. I didn’t say yes or no because I wasn’t sure how tired you’d be.”

“Yea, we can go,” Daryl responded. “Ain’t that tired.”

“I bet Lil’ Asskicker will be excited to see you.”

Daryl snorted. “Not when you’re around with your pretty hair. Steals all the attention.”

Jesus chuckled above him. The smaller man then leaned down over Daryl’s back and whispered in his ear, “So my hair’s pretty, hmm?”

“Shuttup,” Daryl grinned, turning his face into the pillow.

Jesus kissed his cheek and then the back of his head. "Love you," he murmured.

Daryl turned his head to the side again. "Love you too."

Paul then began kissing down Daryl's neck, his back, and down to his waist. The archer felt the familiar tingle of arousal in his groin.

Over the past week, they'd been...trying new things. Daryl had gotten quite comfortable with everything Jesus had taught him, and the sex was, well, amazing to say the least. During one particularly passionate night last Sunday, Paul had asked if he could try something. Daryl nodded, trusting him with whatever he wanted to do. He'd ended up with two fingers inside him as he thrusted into his boyfriend, and he came harder than he ever had in his life.

The thought of Jesus fucking him made Daryl nervous, he wouldn't lie. It was a strange concept, allowing himself to be vulnerable in that way. The thought also was titillating at the same time; the idea of the man he loved receiving pleasure as he moved inside him aroused him. And since that night went so well, Paul had been asking to try similar things each night.

As the younger man's kisses approached the band of his pants, Daryl knew what his next words would be.

"Can I try something?"

Daryl smiled. "Yea," he breathed.

Jesus slid backward, settling himself between the back of Daryl's knees. He pulled down his pants and underwear, exposing his bare behind. He ran his hands across the skin and squeezed gently.

"S'that what you wanted to try? Squeezin' my ass?" Daryl said.

Paul snorted. Daryl couldn't see much from where he had his head turned in the pillows, but he knew Jesus was smiling.

"Well yes, that too," the man responded before giving one cheek another gentle grasp.

"Yea? What were you gonna— _fuck!_ ”

Jesus had spread open Daryl's cheeks and bent down, licking a quick swipe over his rim.

“You were saying?" Jesus breathed with a smirk.

Daryl groaned into his pillow.

“Tell me if you don’t like it,” Paul continued before leaning back down and pressing his tongue against Daryl’s hole.

Daryl had heard about rimming (he wasn’t that naive), but he had no idea it could feel so good. He moaned as Jesus flicked his tongue over the sensitive skin and began grinding his hips into the comforter.

After a few minutes, Paul pushed his tongue inside his rim and that was all it took for Daryl to come, hips writing against the mattress in pleasure.

Jesus pulled back and placed a kiss on Daryl’s hip before moving to lay beside the older man. He sighed as the archer lazily rolled over to face him.

“How was it?” Jesus grinned.

Daryl leaned forward and rested his forehead against Jesus’ collarbone. He hummed in response, body still buzzing from his powerful orgasm.

“That good, huh?” his boyfriend chuckled. Paul placed a brief kiss on the top of his head. “God you were so hot.”

Daryl kissed Jesus’ collarbone over his white henley. He’d forgotten the man had showered earlier, and he could already smell a new sheen of sweat forming on his chest.

“Should shower before we go,” Daryl mumbled.

“Calling me smelly, Dixon?”

Daryl snorted. “Meant me too.”

“Oh I see, you wanna shower with me. I can have that arranged,” Paul replied before leaning down and kissing Daryl’s lips.

Daryl returned touch, tangling his hand in Jesus’ hair to deepen their kiss. It wasn’t long before the younger man was grinding against him as their tongues intertwined, and Daryl ended up sliding down the bed to take the smaller man in his mouth. After he sucked him off, the two moved to the shower to clean up before the night’s events.

 

* * *

 

“There she is, my favorite little badass.”

Jesus bent down to face Judith, who had been occupied with mouthing at the plastic eye of a teddy bear. When she saw the man, she dropped the doll and reached up with a smile to grasp his light-brown locks.

Daryl smirked at the sight and took a sip of his drink.

“Hey Daryl.”

The archer turned around at the voice. Maggie stood behind him, smiling wide with her stomach large.

“Hey, how you feelin’?”

The brunette sighed, rubbing her stomach with one hand. “Well, aside from feeling like I’m gonna bust any minute, I’m good.”

Daryl snorted. “Shouldn’t ya be lying down or somethin?”

“You sound like Glenn. I’ll be fine,” she said with a smirk. She leaned to the side to look at something, and when Daryl turned he realized she was watching Paul tickle Judith as she pulled on his hair. Maggie smiled.

At that moment, Michonne walked over from where she’d been talking with Aaron and Eric and stood beside Maggie to watch Jesus. “I don’t know what it is, she never does that to my hair.”

Maggie grinned again, glancing at Daryl. “I think it’s just Jesus. Right Daryl?”

Daryl felt his cheeks redden as he watched his boyfriend. “Yea, he kinda has that effect on people.”

He looked over at Michonne and Maggie after his statement was met with silence, and they were giving each other knowing smiles.

“What?” Daryl asked, eyes narrowing.

“Nothin,” Maggie shrugged.

Thankfully, Glenn entered the room before Daryl could embarrass himself further. He walked over to Maggie and kissed her cheek. “Hey Michonne,” he added, giving her a peck on the cheek as well. He looked over at Daryl and smiled. “Hey man.”

“Hey.”

He turned to Maggie and said something about sitting on the couch. She nodded and then smiled at Michonne and Daryl. “Were gonna head to the sofa, time for my break.”

Once the pair were gone, Michonne slid closer to the archer. “So, how are things?” she began.

Daryl eyed her and then returned his attention to Jesus, who was now playing peek-a-boo. He’d definitely be teasing him about it later.

“S’good,” Daryl answered before taking another sip.

Michonne hummed. “Can I tell you something?”

Daryl looked at her, brows raised.

“You look happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

The archer’s cheeks reddened again and he looked down into his plastic cup awkwardly.

“Rick thinks so too,” the woman continued, voice soft. “Jesus is good for you. You’re good for him. You’re good together.”

Daryl looked back up at her then, meeting her eyes. Glancing over at his boyfriend, his heart filled with warmth.

Michonne patted his shoulder before moving forward toward the two on the ground. “Hey there, I think it’s time for Judy’s diaper change.”

Paul smirked. “Alright Lil’ Asskicker, hair time is over.”

Michonne pulled the reluctant child from her grasp on Jesus’ hair and scooped her up into her arms. “Be right back,” she smiled at Daryl and Jesus before heading out of the room with Judith in tow.

Jesus stood up and walked over to meet Daryl. “Were you guys talking about me?” he smirked.

“Maybe,” Daryl responded, a smirk of his own softly forming on his lips.

Paul moved closer. “Only good things I hope?”

“‘Course,” Daryl murmured before leaning in and kissing him.

Jesus beamed when the archer pulled back, and he leaned in this time to place a quick peck on his lips.

The two were interrupted by a scream coming from the room next to them. They both froze, eyes wide as they looked at each other, and both sped through the archway into the adjoining living room as if on instinct.

Wielding guns, the two entered the room to see Glenn and Aaron gently helping Maggie off the couch.

“What happened?” Daryl rasped, lowering his gun. Jesus did the same next to him.

Maggie’s face contorted in pain and Glenn doubled his efforts.

Rick came into view as he stepped in front of Daryl and Jesus. “Maggie’s gone into labor. I need you two to run to Denise’s, let her know that we’re coming. We’re gonna carry her over.”

“Shit,” Jesus breathed.

The two took off from Rick’s house and ran two blocks over, racing to Alexandria’s doctor as quick as they could.

 

* * *

 

Four hours later, Jesus and Daryl stood on the porch of Denise’s house, waiting. Glenn, Aaron, Tara, and Rick were inside with Maggie and Denise. Most of their group had stopped by at some point to check on how things were going—Carol, Michonne, Abraham, Sasha, Eugene, Rosita, Eric—all staying for various lengths of time before they decided to head home and come check back at a later time.

Only Daryl and Jesus had stayed, leaning against the wooden paneling on the porch as they waited. Daryl was too nervous to go home; he needed to stay and see this through, regardless of the outcome. He couldn't just sit at home, especially if anything happened and the party inside needed his help. When Daryl had explained this to Jesus, voice shaky, the smaller man had squeezed his hand and told him he wouldn't be alone. Both thought it’d be best to stay outside as to not overcrowd the house with nervous observers.

Around four hours and twenty-seven minutes since they first arrived at Denise’s, Rick pushed open the front door. The two men stood up abruptly, expectant looks on their faces.

“Anything?” Jesus asked.

Rick inhaled. A wave of terror crossed Daryl’s chest, but it subsided when a small smile ghosted over Rick’s lips. “Come on in.”

Daryl slid his hand around Jesus’ as he led them through the door and into the makeshift operating quarters that used to be Denise's living room. Maggie lay in a tall hospital bed, hair slicked back in sweat and dried tears. In her arms was a small baby with tufts of black hair.

Jesus glanced at him with a sweet smile. Daryl squeezed his hand.

Glenn moved where he’d been resting on the bed with Maggie to greet the two men. He pulled Daryl into a hug first, then Jesus. “Come meet Herschel Jr.," he murmured.

Maggie gave a wet laugh, smile wide and vibrant. “Look sweetie, it’s Uncle Daryl and Uncle Jesus.”

Paul laughed breathily at the name, leaning over to say hello to the newest addition to the community. The baby blinked its eyes a few times before cooing and reaching out one of his hands.

“Even he’s not immune to your hair,” Maggie joked.

Jesus laughed again and the sound sent a pang of warmth through Daryl’s chest. He couldn’t help but press a gentle kiss against the back of Paul’s head as they both leaned over the bed.

 

* * *

 

At nine o’clock the pair arrived back home.

Jesus pulled him into a tight hug after he closed the front door. Daryl knew his boyfriend could tell how emotional he’d been as they waited on Denise's porch. The possibility that she’d lose the baby—or that they’d lose Maggie—had terrified him. Now that it was all over, he found himself overwhelmed with emotion.

Daryl had suffered so much pain in his life, both before and after the turn. All of this happiness was so unlike what he’d grown accustomed to dealing with, and often he expected something horrible would have to happen to set things in balance. But after a day like today, and with Jesus wrapped around him, warm hands rubbing soothing circles onto his back, the thought completely dissipated from his mind.

When Paul pulled back, round eyes met Daryl’s own. He smiled softly. “I’m so happy for Maggie.”

“Me too,” Daryl murmured.

“Now we’ve got two Lil’ Asskickers to take care of.”

Daryl snorted. “You should start Karate lessons, train ‘em young.”

"You know," Jesus smirked as he raised a brow. "That's actually not a bad idea." 

A pause of silence hung between them. Suddenly, Daryl blurted, "You’d be a good dad.”

The archer had no idea where it came from, and his cheeks reddened with embarrassment. Even now that he was in an actual relationship he still said stupid shit. 

Jesus stared at him, eyes wide. He knit his brows, searching the archer’s eyes, before reaching up and kissing him.

They kissed gently for a few moments. When they finished, Paul leaned his forehead against Daryl’s.

“I love you, Paul,” Daryl murmured.

“I love you too,” Jesus replied, voice soft. “So much.”

They kissed again, soft and slow at first and then melting into something deeper, more passionate. Clothes were cast to the floor as they made their way upstairs into the master bedroom.

 

* * *

 

Daryl and Jesus kissed and moved against each other under the blankets for what felt like hours. Soon enough they were both hard and leaking, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breaths.

“Wanna make love to you,” Jesus breathed as he kissed down Daryl’s chest, “Wanna be inside you.”

Daryl gave a breathy moan. “Okay.”

Jesus stopped his motions and looked up, brows raised. “Wait, are you sure?”

“Yea, m’sure.”

“Shit,” Paul breathed before diving down and capturing Daryl’s mouth with his own.

Jesus worked him open with his mouth as he did earlier, this time Daryl on his hands and knees at the smaller man’s direction. After several minutes, which had Daryl already keening, Paul added a finger.

The feeling of Jesus’ tongue and fingers moving inside his hole sent shivers of pleasure up his spine. He longed desperately for friction against his cock, so he reached down and began pumping with one hand.

His boyfriend added another finger then, pulling his face back to focus on stretching him open. He angled the fingers slightly and moved them to rub against a spot that felt unlike anything he’d experience before. Daryl moaned and jerked his hips up involuntarily.

“Told you I’d show you where it was,” Jesus breathed before inserting another finger. Without lube (which thankfully Paul had found on a run last week) the movement stung. Daryl stopped his strokes and clenched his teeth, hissing softly.

“Too much?” Jesus asked, moving up to place a kiss against his lower spine.

“Just…might want more lube.”

Jesus chuckled behind him. “I wish I could tape you saying that. Replay it over and over…”

“Prick,” Daryl muttered, smirk forming on his reddened lips.

The younger man leaned down and kissed Daryl’s back again before grabbing the small tube from their bedside table. He popped it open and spread the smooth liquid over his fingers and then reinserted them slowly into Daryl’s hole.

“Fuck,” Daryl moaned, body adjusting to the width of three fingers.

Jesus moved them in and out, making sure to hit that same spot over and over. Before Daryl knew it, he was moaning loudly, hand stroking fast over his erection. Paul then pulled out and whispered, “Don’t come just yet, baby.”

The smaller man reached down and grabbed the bottle of lube again, pouring out what remained onto his hands and rubbing it over his cock.

“I wanna see your face, but I think this position will be the easiest the first time,” Paul murmured. “Is that okay?”

Daryl nodded. “Yea, s’okay. Just go slow.”

Jesus leaned down and kissed his back again. “I will, I promise. You tell me if it’s too much or it hurts and I’ll stop.”

Slowly, his boyfriend aligned himself with Daryl’s behind, lightly pressing his head against Daryl’s hole. “I’m gonna push in now, okay?”

“Okay,” Daryl breathed, nervous.

When Daryl felt Jesus’ length press into him he inhaled, mentally preparing himself for the pain. As the man's head pushed through the first ring of muscle, the archer felt another sting of pain, but after that the ache subsided. The girth of Paul’s cock inside him felt strange, but not wholly unpleasant.

Then he heard his boyfriend moan and his cock twitched. Sometimes he felt that Jesus’ pleasure turned him on more than the pleasure he experienced himself.

“How are you doing?” Paul asked, voice husky.

Daryl breathed. “I’m good.”

Paul leaned over and peppered up Daryl’s back with kisses. “You think I can start moving?” he breathed into the archer’s ear.

He’d adjusted to Jesus’ width as much as he could at this point. He had no idea if movement would bring the pain back, but he had to try sooner or later.

“Yea.”

His boyfriend moaned. “Okay, baby.”

Paul moved his hips, slowly pulling out and pushing back in. As he gently repeated the motions, Daryl felt pleasure begin to build up again in his groin.

After a few minutes, the smaller man straightened to his earlier postition and increased his speed, angling his hips upwards to hit the spot that felt so fucking good. Daryl mewled as Jesus moved inside him. 

“Yeah, you like that?” Paul breathed.

Daryl moaned in response.

“Fuck, I love you,” Paul exhaled as he moved his hips quicker.

After several minutes, Daryl felt his lover’s thighs shake. The archer could tell Paul was completely undone by being inside him, and that he wasn’t going to last much longer. Sensing his own orgasm building closer with each thrust against his prostate, Daryl began stroking quickly over his cock.

When Paul noticed, he reached down and knocked Daryl’s hand away. “Let me,” he murmured before wrapping his soft hand around Daryl’s length.

The archer groaned at the touch, head dropping down in pleasure.

As Paul thrusted inside him and stroked his cock in tandem, Daryl felt like his entire body was tingling in ecstasy. He’d never felt anything like this, pleasure coming from both inside him and out. He’d never been able to be this vulnerable and relaxed with anyone either, like he was completely giving himself over to someone else. Daryl wasn’t sure he could admit it out loud quite yet, but he fucking loved the feeling.

When Paul gave three shaky thrusts, higher-pitched moans spilling from his lips, Daryl peaked, coming into his lover's hand and over the sheets. Jesus moaned louder as Daryl constricted around him and he dropped his head to Daryl’s back, giving one, two more thrusts before releasing himself. 

After, they tangled wordlessly underneath the sheets, kissing languidly.

“I love you so much. Thank you,” Paul whispered before nuzzling into Daryl's chest and drifting into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

The following morning, Daryl Dixon sat on the steps of his porch, hand intertwined with Jesus’ as the smaller man leaned against his shoulder. [Birds called to each other in conversation and chirped songs of daylight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rObdAGdHWMc), and Daryl felt glad they hadn’t flown further south to evade the colder weather quite yet. Daryl noticed that he appreciated small things like this more than he did several months ago—the sound of birds singing in the morning, the warming rays of the sun on a chilly day, the smell of the Pansies Carol had planted that were somehow still alive in his front yard. The world hadn’t seemed so alive, back then, not with the way things were. He didn’t think he’d ever felt this alive before the turn, either.

His living didn’t really start, Daryl thought, until Jesus appeared.

 

* * *

 

 

The end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've come full circle. Thank you so much to everyone who's read, commented, liked, supported, reached out, and drawn fanart. This is the first fanfiction I've ever written so all of this has been a lot to take in! You are all so special to me and I cannot express how thankful and appreciative I am for your dedication.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed my story. :)


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